Sing for me
by Siberianchan
Summary: It is 1848, it is Dresden and it is a somewhat PotO-AU history AU centering around the Royal Court theatre and the May uprisings in 1849. They are opera singers. Viktor is dramatic as ever.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Sing for me

Fandom: Yuri! On Ice

Comment: The Phantom Of The Opera AU nobody ever asked for. Because I love doing stuff nobody ever asked me for.

 **Chapter 01**

Dresden, May 1848

It would be all right, he told himself, looking at the building in front of him.

In the bright, clear afternoon air the Semperoper looked smaller than at night when it was alight with the soft glow of chandeliers, glistening against the darkness like a jewel bathed in the sweet air of late spring.

Yuuri drew a deep breath; last night, when he had looked at this place, it had appeared far more intimidating than now. It would be all right. He would do fine here. He could sing – sing well enough for the Scala at the very least and he was used to getting by with very little money, so the payment was no problem. He would probably try to find someone to share a place with, but Dresden was big and probably crawling with poor artists, looking for the same prospect. It would be all right.

His hand searched for the recommendation letter Maestro Celestino Caldini had written for him and with another deep breath, letter in hand, he wandered around the building towards a side entrance, leaving the grand staircase aside.

There was a bustling there, people entering and leaving all the time, and he waited a bit for a someone to slow down – and finally, finally a group of girls – ballet, probably, judging by their lithe physique and slim arms – bustled out, giggling.

Yuuri took a deep breath. "Excuse me!"

The girls stopped right in their tracks, turning to him, pale, thin faces questioning, noses upturned into a fashion that could have been almost coquettish if they hadn't been so young.

Yuuri was keenly aware that he was seized up and down and he swallowed. "I am looking for the director, if you could..."

"Music or dance?" one asked, cutting him off.

"Singing."

"Stage," another one just mumbled, before being grabbed and dragged away.

Yuuri looked after them, at least until one of them turned around, looking back at him questioningly. That was his signal to quickly turn around and scuttle inside.

From inside the Semperoper wasn't much warmer, at least not at the side corridor where he entered; the warmth would have to wait until he reached the main area, be it the great reception hall with its grand stairways and chandeliers or the corridors, rooms and closets of the backstage.

Operas houses by their very nature were a maze and it took three times of running past the same bloody beam before Yuuri finally found a small door that opened and – miracle of miracle – he found himself looking at the auditorium, dark and only illuminated from the stage side.

Yuuri took a glimpse inside.

The stage emitted a soft, yellow candle light that illuminated the gilded carvings and stucco of the ceiling, the walls, the boxes for the noblest audience of this place. Here and there, red velvet gleamed like embers in a fireplace.

On the stage, some more ballet girls were dancing an elegant choreography to a simple piano arrangement of a part of Mozart's "Magic Flute" that Yuuri recognized as the introducing song of Papageno.

The song ended and the girls rushed off the stage amidst a man yelling, "You done finally, good, go, go, don't have all day!"

Their place on the stage was taken by a man and a woman.

Yuuri patiently waited for the rehearsal to end, enjoying the duet and dialogue in which the two went through the lines of the three ladies as well as the arias of Tamino and the Night Queen.

From down, there came an impatient "Again!" and so, they started again.

The woman was a perfect cast. Her soprano was clear and sweet like spring water, but there was a certain edge to it; she herself was a striking appearance with dark hair and a skin that didn't need the candle light for its dark golden shimmer. Perfect for the Night Queen, able to evoke both gentle, kind starlight and threatening, all-encompassing darkness.

The Tamino was her perfect opposite, flaxen hair tied back to reveal a very slender, long neck and a fair face that was both very sharp and determined yet at the same time amazingly youthful.

His singing was just as sharp and punctuated, pointedly and not at all befitting for someone stricken with love.

They sang through their dialogue before there was a rumble from the chairs. "Stop! Stop! Yuroshka, stop, stop, stop!"

The singers looked down.

Yuuri followed their gaze to a grizzly looking old man in a suit and jacket that definitely had seen better days.

"Tamino's in love! At once! In! Love!", he continued, "Sing with love, love, not like you try to... to... Sara, how would you feel if someone talked about you to your mother like that?"

The woman laughed, very melodically. "Like he's not in love and never has been in love before, but for some reason has to act like he is. Yuri is lucky that he's so pretty and so young. With someone less good-looking I'd be insulted. And with someone older, I would be too busy laughing to hit even one note." She cleared her throat. "On another note, if I showed someone a picture of my daughter and they sang like that I'd both feel insulted on her behalf and worried he might try to grab power from my hands instead of saving her as he was instructed."

"Yes. Yes, exactly. Yuri, sing more like in love! Sing as if you're happy to see her."

"Well, sorry if hitting the notes don't make it sound love-sick and happy, me singing it wrong certainly won't!" The man was a boy, Yuuri suddenly realized. Probably not older than 17, perhaps even younger. And he was singing Tamino.

He had to be amazing to sing such roles at this age, amazing talent, amazing charisma, amazing willpower.

And amazing abilities of perception.

"Oi, Yakov, we got a visitor."

Yuuri felt a collection of eyes falling upon him and briefly wondered whether it was too late to run and get back to Milan. Celestino would probably take him back in, right?

The man stared at him with dark, hard eyes and waved, impatiently, for him to come closer. "You, what do you want?"

Yuuri tightened his grip around Celestino's letter. "I... I heard you are looking for singers... wait, no... I am one of your new singers..."

The cool dark eyes took him in and Yuuri desperately wished he had at least taken the time to straighten up his suit or comb his hair, do anything to appear somewhat civilized.

"Where you from? What's your name?"

"Y... Yuuri Katsuki. I... I'm coming from Milan. Got schooled at the Scala."

"Doesn't sound Italian to me. You don't _look_ Italian."

If the ground beneath his feet decided to open up and swallow him, Yuuri would have been decidedly very, very grateful. "I am Japanese by birth."

"Oh, but from Milan?" the woman on the stage chirped and then continued: "Sono le strade piene di gatti ancora qui?"

Her accent was Veronese, but Yuuri still felt a wave of relief. "Solo se da gatti si intende chi non ha una casa e del lavoro e troppe bocche da sfamare – oh, aspetta, ho pensato che si stava chiedendo su Napoli!"

She laughed. "Oh, finally, finally someone who gets the joke." In a few years, she would make for a wonderful Pamina.

Mr. Feltsman, once again took a close look at him. "Good. Milan. Scala? Why you're here then?"

Yuuri swallowed hard. "Uh... Maestro Cialdini thought I might need a change and..."

A smaller stage had been his exact words, with an expression of sorrow and regret that still made Yuuri sick in his stomach. "He wrote ahead on my behalf and... uh, I also got this..." He handed the letter over.

Mr. Feltsman opened it and read it, brow carefully furrowed, while he gestured for Yuuri to come closer.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty and three."

"Your voice range?"

"Tenor."

"Countertenor?"

"Maestro Cialdini tried, but I was more suited to train towards bass."

Mr. Feltsman took a glance at him. "What were we practising just now?"

"Uh, Mozart's "Magic Flute". The Night Queen is just convincing Tamino to go and rescue her daughter Pamina."

The boy on the stage grumbled something that sounded somewhat like,"Well, everybody knows that."

He nodded. "Good. Yuri, come down, let him sing it. I wanna see how he can do. Just to check. You, up there. Did you warm up already? No, you got five minutes."

Yuuri stared at the man, the woman, the boy, as they all looked at him.

"Well, what you waiting for? An invitation? A personal coach? Brandy?"

Yuuri flinched and then slowly retreated to the stairway that led to the area behind the curtain.

Finding a suitable spot he started warming up, singing octaves up and down, going higher and higher.

There was a throbbing behind his eyes, but he paid it no mind. His throat was doing its work, his voice was clear and powerful and he managed to jump about one and a half octaves without trouble.

Good. That was good.

He took a deep breath.

"Oi. Time's up, the old man's getting impatient."

Yuuri turned around to see the other singer standing behind him. Up close he looked even younger, with skin so fair that he could see veins underneath and hair like spun gold. If he ever smiled, he'd probably look positively angelic, but for some reason, Yuuri doubted that there was ever any other expression than some degree of disdain on his delicate features.

"Uh, yes. Thanks." He headed out, where the woman awaited him with a kind smile. She was extremely pretty, porcelain fine skin and eyes of a dark blue that was almost lilac.

"Sara Crispino," she smiled with a cheerfully mocking curtsey.

"Good! Are the introductions done with? Great, get to work! You, start at the _Dies Bildnis_ verse, from top. Sara, you do the ladies again!"

Sara's face fell a bit, but then she took a breath. "As you say."

"Good. Georgi!"

The pianist, sharp-faced and angular, flinched. "YES!"

"You heard that! Third scene! Aria!"

"Yessir!" The man nodded sharply and started hammering on the piano.

Yuuri recognized the melody, humming a few notes before starting with Tamino's verse. "Dies Bildnis ist bezaubernd schön – Wie noch kein Auge je geseh'n. Ich fühl' es, wie dies Götterbild – Mein Herz mit neuer Regung füllt. Diess Etwas kann ich zwar nicht nennen!

Doch fühl' ichs hier wie Feuer brennen. Soll die Empfindung Liebe seyn?" His voice did its job, good.

Sara listened intently as he went through the verse until the very end.

"Was würde ich! - Sie voll Entzücken. And diesen heißen Busen drücken, Und ewig wäre sie dann mein."

There was a moment of silence, only a quarter of a pause, in which he looked to her.

She offered him an encouraging smile before she started the spoken verses of the three ladies.

"Rüste dich mit Muth und Standhaftigkeit, schöner Jüngling! - Die Fürstin hat mir aufgetragen, dir zu sagen, daß der Weg zu deinem künftigen Glücke nunmehr gebahnt sey!"

Her declamation was full of pathos, very different from the cheerful chirping from before – well, she was acting, so that was normal, he mused, just as she finished, "Hat dieser Jüngling, sprach sie, auch so viel Muth und Tapferkeit als er zärtlich ist, o so ist meine Tochter ganz gewiss gerettet."

He jolted, widening his eyes. "Gerettet? Oh ewige Dunkelheit! Was hör' ich! - Das Original?"

They played through the entire dialogue in which the ladies gave Tamino a briefing about how the abduction of Pamina had gone along, firing him up for the quest, before Sara finished, announcing the Queen with a loud, dramatic "Sie kommt! Sie kommt! Sie kommt!"

And in the next moment her voice seemed to switch, straight back to what it had been when Yuuri had listened in first.

Clear, and cutting-edge sharp she recited the verses in which the Queen introduced herself as a mourning, worried mother, before starting her aria. "Zum Leiden bin ich auserkohren; Denn meine Tochter fehlet mir, Durch sie ging all mein Glück verloren - Ein Bösewicht entfloh mit ihr!"

"Yes, yes, yes, Sara!" Yakov yelled and the piano died. "We know that bit, and we know you're in your position for a reason, yes!"

His gaze fell on Yuuri. "You, though... what parts have you performed so far?"

The excitement of the performance was wearing off. Yuuri swallowed. "No main roles. In Milan, I was mostly understudy... I... I sang the "Magic Flute" before. One of the three boys. And the first Armored Man... occasionally one of the slaves."

"Hm." Mr. Feltsman looked at him, sharply. "Let's be clear, if I said so you wouldn't find one moment of work here, I don't care whether you already got a contract promised and I care even less what your maestro has to say about you, because he showers you a bit too much with praise, considering your thin resume."

An almost deafening wave of nausea was rising in him. Suddenly the floorboards were very far away.

But well, it wasn't like he hadn't expected this. He should have known. It wasn't news, after all.

"Anyway, we need some new voices, and you're not half-bad. You have a place in Dresden?"

What? Yuuri stared at him.

"You deaf? Not good – no?"

Yuuri shook his head, quickly.

"Good. So, you got lodgings here?"

"Nothing permanent. A room in an inn," he admitted.

"Ah. Georgi, make sure he finds a place at your dormitories after we're done here," Yakov ordered.

The man behind the piano saluted, long-fingered hand against a temple with cropped, brown hair. "Yessir!"

"Good. You!" He turned to Yuuri again.

Yuuri stiffened. "Yessir!"

"Cut it out, that's only funny when Georgi does it. Be back at eleven, we'll be done here then."

"Yes." Yuuri swallowed the "Sir."

He waved his hand in the air. "Rehearsal for the chorus is at eight in the morning. Be on time. In two months we'll hold try-outs for Lortzing's "Wildschütz", so prepare yourself if you want a part in that."

Yuuri was about to nod again when he heard a soft "Tse" from behind the curtain.

The other singer stood there, looking at him with something like cool, hard contempt in his clear, bright green eyes.

What was wrong now?

Sara smiled. "It will be a bit confusing with two Yuris, right?" she chirped.

"Why?", the other drawled, but his eyes grew colder by another few degrees. "Not like he'll be getting any big parts anytime soon."

"Yuri, Sara, less gossiping, more singing! Yuri, you've heard how you should sing when you're in love?! More like this, will ya!"

There was some more grumbling from the boy who now rejoined Sara on the stage.

Yuuri slipped from the stage and away.

Eleven. That was in two and a half hours.

Enough time to take a look at this new town, this new place he would live from now on. Enough time to see whether it might in time even become a home.

In the end, he returned long before the pianist – Georgi, he remembered – was done. Since there was nothing else to do, he spent the time wandering the maze of corridors and crossroads and beams and lifts and cranes and doors, getting lost a few times, all the while mapping it out. After the thirteenth time, he had it mapped out somewhat – the dressing rooms for the ballet corps, male and female, strictly separated and probably chaperoned – the costume storerooms – the props room, next to it – the dressing room for the chorus, only one, so men and women probably changed in shifts.

The dressing rooms for the solo singers and the more prestigious the person, the more space between the doors and the fewer people had to share one room.

There were only four doors with only one name on them and one door was labeled "Yuri Plisetsky". That was probably the young one from before.

Didn't seem to friendly a fellow. That might not be good – life as a chorus singer or an understudy was hard enough without having any of the soloists hating you. Although in Milan it had rarely ever been the men who had started drama, that honour had usually belonged to the primadonna and the head ballerina. God help you if they for some reason both decided to hate you. Yuuri had watched a few young women leave the Scala because of that. But the leading ladies weren't the leading ladies for nothing, so the rest of the theater usually had suffered in silence and waited for the drama to blow over.

Yuuri could only pray that this boy wasn't interested in behaving like a primadonna, only because the actual one seemed a nice enough woman.

At least nice enough to consider him a landsman. Maybe it had been a while since she had had contact with an actual Italian and was now taking what she could get?

He listened to snippets of conversations floating around him, bits in German that he almost understood.

This language was confusing. Some words were actually familiar to his ears without him having to try too hard, but then they messed it up with too hard words, too many edges, too complicated verbs.

And still, Yuuri had managed to learn the language, at least well enough for everyday purposes. Celestino had insisted on him learning German years ago, considering how much German music and especially opera had grown in importance over the last few years.

Or maybe he had planned all along to send him away. It wasn't like Yuuri would be missed at the Scala. He couldn't even begrudge Celestino his decision to send Yuuri so far away. Quite a few of the German countries had a long and celebrated theater tradition and Dresden especially was proud to call itself a patron city of musical theater as well. Maybe Yuuri would find a spot for himself here. And in any case, he would not look more foreign here than he had in Milan.

He would feel glances and stares following him here as well and he would hear people whisper and laugh. Being a foreigner at least meant that there were things one would always and under any circumstances understand.

It had been quite too much very soon and thus he had quickly wandered to the inn in a rather cheap and maybe somewhat dirty district on the other side of the river Elbe. There he had paid his rent for the room he had slept in last night and grabbed his few belongings before leaving, hearing the landlord mutter something about his bad manners.

Head bowed down, almost tucked in between his shoulder blades, he had arrived back at the opera and had slipped back in and wandered the maze, before returning to the curtains behind the main stage.

Rehearsals were still going on, but apparently, the parts for Tamino were through for today – on stage a bass singer as bass a singer could be and a soprano, probably in her thirties, went through the dialogue between Sarastro and Pamina.

They were good, Sarastro deep and filling and awe-inspiring – a wise and kind leader and protective father figure for the girl he had taken.

Pamina's sweet, flexible soprano wept her sorrow and her worries for her mother, occasionally broken by hopes for a better future with a lover she had yet to meet but was already enthralled with.

"Shit piece," he heard someone mutter beside him and as he turned, saw the tenor. Yuri Plisetsky.

Yuuri flinched. "Oh... sorry... I didn't know you were here..."

"This opera is shit," Yuri mumbled, as if he hadn't heard him.

Yuuri blinked at him. "It's a masterpiece."

"Doesn't mean it's not full of shit."

"You're singing the male lead."

The boy shrugged. "We all need bread, right?" he slowly blinked at Yuuri, his bright eyes hard and cold with something almost like fury. "Don't look at me like that. You tell me you love singing so much or whatever?"

Taken aback, Yuuri stood in silence, while he listened as Sarastro and Pamina came to an end.

"Yeah, yeah, all right! Elise, you get the lyrics into that thick skull of yours by tomorrow! It's not even like Pamina has that much text to begin with!" Mr. Feltsman bellowed.

Maybe where he was concerned, that constituted as a praise. The soprano was positively glowing when she left the stage. She shot Yuuri a vaguely curious look, but then she very likely decided that a new face was beneath her attention and wandered off.

Yuuri found that he could live with that very well.

"Yuri! Your scene with Johannes! Then we're done for today!"

The boy sighed, "Ugh, finally!" and then left towards the stage.

Yuuri listened to the piano smattering the melody and then the bass started delivering what were the Priest's lines. "Wo willst du kühner Fremdling, hin? Was suchst du hier im Heiligthum?"

Maybe this production had merged Sarastro and this priest into one. Or maybe the singer for Sarastro played the priest's part for now.

This time, Yuri had no trouble delivering the expected feelings. Tamino's distrust against the supposed villain was palpable and he didn't shake it off after he supposedly had started to believe his word.

"Stop! Yuri! Tamino is _not_ sarcastic here!"

Yuri on the stage took an audible, deep breath.

Yuuri just waited for him to start screaming. If he had screamed he would not have been surprised at all.

However, the boy did not scream.

Yuuri heard him breathe out and then, with an utterly fake tone of resignation sigh: "Yeah, true, he believes every single word strangers he doesn't know tell him and is extremely easily swayed to their cause. He probably wouldn't know sarcasm if it stood in front of him yelling his face off as he deserves for his idiocy."

From down below, a soft, long-suffering groan rose to them, then ended sharply and Mr. Feltsman said, "Again. From the top."

They started again and this time, Yuri acted on the conversion of Tamino, portraying him with the wonder and elation of watching a sunrise after a night's vigil. His voice was already mostly formed but still had retained that glass clear, aerial quality Yuuri was used to hear from chorus boys before they grew up.

"All right, good! Who's on stage tonight? Both of you? Good, see you then."

"See you!" the bass greeted before leaving for the curtain.

He took a quick glance at Yuuri. "New face?"

Yuuri quickly nodded. "Yes... uh... Georgi was supposed to show me the dorms."

"Chorus then? Well, welcome to Dresden."

"Thank you. … Yuuri. Yuuri Katsuki."

The bass smiled through his thick, red beard and offered him a hand. "Johannes Erhard. And just in case you don't know yet – we're all stage folk here. We have each other's back no matter what. You got that?"

Yuuri didn't, but it was nice to hear it anyway. "Yes. Thank you."

"Oi, Johannes, if you have time to be a papa to any new nose around here, you have time for your wife too!" Yuri hissed. "Get home!"

Johannes Erhard laughed. "If your wealth of experience and wisdom accumulated in your long, long life says so, my dear boy – I will! See you tonight!"

And he wandered off as well.

Yuri sighed. "He's no good on stage if he's not well-rested and he knows it." He glanced to Yuuri again. "So. You know what's up after the "Magic Flute"?"

"Not yet." Yuuri had the distinct feeling this might change in the next few moments.

""Wildschütz". Comedy. Light-hearted. Yakov mentioned it before. You should try out for it. Easy to sing, you might even get a small spot."

"And what if not?"

"Then you're where you were before. Don't stare like that. Yakov likes the chorus stacked well enough that one or two singers absent won't be noticed. And in any case, no understudy ever suffered from a stint in the chorus."

Well, Mr. Feltsman surely had interesting ideas regarding how to manage his singers.

"And why would you want me to try out?" Yuuri asked. "There an understudy you wish a stint in the chorus upon?"

Yuri snorted. "The what? Does this look like Paris to you?"

"A few hours ago it most definitely didn't sound too French," Yuuri admitted. "So, why then?"

"I like to see how far people can get." His eyes were still sharp but the edge had come off a bit. "You gonna show me how far you can get, understood?"

This boy, Yuuri concluded, was a bit weird. But then again, he was singing lead tenor roles before he was even remotely in the area of turning twenty, so maybe being a bit weird was just another aspect of being gifted.

On the stage, the pianist, Georgi, was just closing the lid to the piano keys and stretching this back through, without doubt feeling rather sore after many hours of work.

He turned around and nodded to them. "Oh, you're here already? Great. See you tonight, Yuri!"

"Yeah, whatever," Yuri mumbled and then wandered off.

Georgi huffed a laugh. "Oh, to be young and innocent again, eh?" He gave Yuuri a wink that was entirely obscure in its meaning to him.

"Ah well. Come along, will you!"

Yuuri did and was lead into the spring-warm midday sun and through streets and alleyways, filled with laughter and screaming and talking and the rumbling of horse pulled carts.

An ever-flowing stream of German surrounded them, and a weird one as that, the usually hard and sharp edges of the language blurred and slurred and everything spoken in a high-pitched, almost painful sing-song.

Yuuri prayed he'd get used to it and quickly. Preferably before his ears started to bleed.

"So", Georgi turned to him, "don't mind me, but how did you get to Italy from Japan? Aren't they kind of closed-off?"

Thank goodness, he spoke Italian, although his accent was almost as thick as the porridge Yuuri had had for breakfast today.

"Si." Yuuri nodded. "Maestro Cialdini picked me up in Singapore and brought me with him to Milano when I was small."

"How old were you?"

"I don't know. Maybe three or four."

Georgi's face twisted into something that seemed to be understanding and he nodded. "So, you remember anything from there?"

Yuuri shook his head. "No."

Again, Georgi's face twisted, now into something like pity.

Yuuri looked ahead, just so he wouldn't have to look at it. "That's the Church of Our Lady over there?" he asked, nodding to one tall, time-darkened dome of sandstone.

"It is." Thankfully, Georgi picked up on the change of topic. "In case you ever loose your way in the city, head towards there and once you're on the Neumarkt, you should be able to find your way back to the opera."

Another corner, they stopped to let some carriages and carts pass and then crossed the street.

The dormitory turned out to be a broad, five-story building with a bright blue facade and a thin, tired-looking widow for an owner who made a humble living out of renting out beds and offering food for theater folks from behind a small desk with a thick, large book on it that looked very well-thumbed.

She looked at Yuuri closely, going so far as drawing up her oil lamp close to his face, despite the fact that bright midday light shone through the window and lightened up the birch wood panels on the wall and the bright, yellow tiles on the floor. "Where do you work?"

Did he work at the Semperoper yet? He had just introduced himself, he had no fixed position yet, he...

"Mrs. Haubener," Georgi sighed, "Really?"

"There's a way how things are done", the woman snapped. "So, speak, lad."

"Uh... Semperoper."

"Orchestra? Chorus? Don't look like ballet, do you."

"Chorus."

"Good, they at least behave." She nodded. "You pay your rent weekly. Breakfast is at six. Supper at 8. Your rent is 12 Groschen. This includes seven meals, your choice whether it's breakfast or supper. Let me know in advance. Everything else you book on top."

Yuuri glanced to Georgi, but the man nodded and Yuuri decided to trust his judgement. "Good."

"Good. You got money to pay for the week? If not, you can start paying next week, but put two Groschen on top of it for six weeks, then we're good."

"I..." Yuuri's throat was tight. "I can pay."

"Good." She nodded, curtly, then held her hand out.

Yuuri quickly reached for his purse and counted up twelve Groschen into her palm.

"Good." Mrs. Haubener smiled as she pocketed the money and opened a book. "Your name?"

"Katsuki, Yuuri."

She raised an eyebrow and he spelled it out for her. "Sorry for that."

"Funny name." She made a note behind the name and closed the book again. "Before Georgi shows you to your room – you can come and go at your own leisure, there's always someone opening up the doors. But you won't bring women to your room. You will not come towards the girls' rooms. If you have a female visitor, you can receive them in the mess hall. No smoking in the room. If you violate any of these rules or if I hear too many complaints from the other tenants or if you can't pay your rent, I will kick you out at once, understood?"

Yuuri hurried to nod, although his head was still picking apart the last sentence, just in case he had missed anything on first hearing.

"Good. Georgi, you know where there's a free bed, you take care of him."

"Will do and thank you!"

"You up for dinner tonight?"

"Gladly. Sign him up for one too, my treat for the new guy."

Mrs. Haubener raised an eyebrow. "Well, you didn't spend all your meals for the week, so, fine." She looked at Yuuri. "You want breakfast tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Good." With a wave, they were dismissed and Georgi, grinning, headed for the stairway.

Yuuri followed him.

On each floor, there were two closed doors, left and right.

"Left are the women's rooms and Mrs. Haubener is serious, by the way, don't ever go there. I had a girl who lived there and we were planning to get married – I stayed here because it is cheaper than to rent a full apartment and we wanted to save for a house. We were only allowed to meet in the mess and only with a chaperone, so we usually went out or met at the Opera."

"Oh." That _were_ quite strict rules if even engaged couples had to obey them. "Uh... you were planning, you said?"

Georgi swallowed audibly. "She..." He looked at Yuuri, quite misty-eyed. "She changed her mind. In the end, she found it more lucrative to marry one of the sponsors of the lead ballerina."

"Oh... well..." Yuuri tried very hard to find the right words, failed and thus, didn't say anything.

Georgi drew a deep breath. "Oh well. She will regret her decision in time, you will see. She will beg me to take her back. I am not entirely sure yet whether to forgive her then or spurn her."

This left Yuuri speechless for entirely different reasons. While they went up another floor, he left Georgi to his ramblings until he finally opened the door to reveal a corridor with yet more doors, three on each side.

Georgi wandered down the corridor and opened the middle door on the left. "Ah, I was right – there's room here." He waved Yuuri to come closer.

The room had six beds, one of them empty and obviously unoccupied. Next to each there was a small night stand, at the foot end of each bed a cask for clothes and other personal belongings.

The others were all showing various signs of general occupation.

"Three of them are in the orchestra – bit wild, those folks, take care when they offer you something – anything they call home made. The other two are singers, like you." Georgi slapped his back. "I'm sure you'll get along."

Yuuri nodded, slowly. "Yes... thank you."

"Well, I'll leave you to it. I'm one floor up, middle room to the left."

Again, Yuuri mumbled, "Thank you", and then he was left alone to unpack what he had with him. Not that it was much, three pairs of trousers, two shirts, one good shirt, four sets of underwear. One well-thumbed edition of Boccaccio's "Decamerone", which Yuuri carefully placed on his nightstand, running a finger over the back of the book. Celestino had used this very book to teach him reading, maybe a year or two after he had started giving Yuuri music lessons.

The memory brought a wave of homesickness that made Yuuri nauseous enough to sit down on the bed. Why had he ever thought this might actually be a good idea? It wasn't, it so definitely wasn't and he...

He took the book in his hands, feeling the familiar weight, the blue linen, once coarse, now softened by uncounted times of touching, the paper having lost the stiff freshness long ago, bending to his touch as he opened the book.

There was a sheet of paper inside.

Yuuri blinked, then picked it up and unfolded it.

Celestino's neat, flowing cursive stared at him in Italian and Yuuri smiled a bit. It _was_ like him to write him a note.

 _My dear, little Yuuricino,_

 _By now you have hopefully settled in in Dresden. Don't be too discouraged by Yakov Feltsman. He is gruff, but a good sort and he appreciates hard work. You are one of the hardest workers I have experienced in my life and you have more talent than you yourself believe. I do hope that Dresden will do you good and help you realize what you can do. With lots of love and all the best wishes,_

 _Celestino Cialdini_

Yuuri dropped the note, taking in a deep breath.

Celestino had wanted him to go here and Yuuri had not protested. Celestino wanted him to be here. Now Yuuri was here. Celestino wanted him to succeed here.

Hopefully, he would.

 _With lots of love and all the best wishes_ , he had written.

That was some comfort at least. Celestino hadn't sent him away because he didn't care for him. Celestino wanted him to grow and change and succeed.

So, Yuuri would try his best.

So Yuuri would now consider Dresden the place to grow and change and succeed.

So Yuuri would now consider Dresden his home.

It would be all right.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 02**

It was anything but all right, no matter how hard Yuuri tried.

He had wandered Dresden a bit more, but it had been a short stint. Acutely aware that people stared at him, his features, his smaller stature and his distinctly not-Western complexion, he had managed only two or three streets before the stares had driven him back into the dormitory.

By the time of his return the place had started to crawl with people coming from their morning work or already heading out for the evening performances, the foyer was overrun with dancers and musicians and artists talking amiably or curtly to each other.

Nobody had paid Yuuri any attention, thank goodness.

He had met up with Georgi for supper, listening to him chattering on and on about which chorus boy had done this and that and which ballet girl he was intending to woo this year, so he could marry her, so his former betrothed would see how well he'd be doing without her and then she'd regret everything and try to reconcile with him.

He didn't say much, partly because Georgi certainly revelled in having someone who listened to his ramblings.

Partly it was because Georgi was talking fast and with that thick accent of his, so Yuuri had to focus all his attention on understanding what he was saying.

Probably the biggest reason was that Georgi was, in fact, a little bit scary with the way he talked and Yuuri most certainly did not want to encourage him.

It was bedtime for him soon after – Mrs. Haubener handed him a blanket, sheets and a pillow, all clean and smelling faintly of lavender and all smooth and tinted the softest shade of yellow with long years of use.

So, in the empty room, he made his bed and laid down, closing his eyes, trying to catch some sleep.

It proved to be a tough exercise.

Dresden was a loud city night and day, full of the rumble of the carts, the clopping of hooves, the chatter and laughter of people and the shatter of glass.

Even after pressing the pillow over his ears, the sounds still intruded on him and followed him into his dreams.

Morning came too early and as he rose, he saw five other tousled heads rising, blinking, looking around and then stumbling out of their beds to get dressed.

The other men blinked at him. "New face, eh?" one commented. "Where you work?"

"Chorus," Yuuri mumbled and then hurried down, before they could stare at him any more or ask questions or generally try to talk to him.

Downstairs a maid servant handed out trays with bread and butter and cheese and porridge and strong, black tea and made a mark behind his name on a list.

He ate in silence, taking notice of the fact that Georgi wasn't coming down and scanning the many, square tables of the room that was serving as mess hall. Everyone down here looked just as tired as Yuuri felt and the tea did only so much to alleviate his troubles. Also, down here in the mess hall with them all groggy from what likely had been far too short a night, the gender segregation was almost nonexistent, men and women eating in peace at the same table, sometimes in bleary silence, sometimes with a side of friendly banter or bickering, before they got up, carried their dishes back and then left, possibly for whatever line of work they were keeping themselves fed and housed with.

Yuuri cleared his plate in silence before doing the same.

The Semperoper was waiting.

Life was waiting.

Work, however, wasn't waiting, so he better hurry, because really, there were a lot of things he would rather face than an angry Yakov Feltsman right at his first day there. Being thrown off a cliff most definitely or being run over by a horse cart most definitely would have been a far more delightful prospect.

With his life being the way it was, it was likely he would be very late nonetheless, due to some circumstances he could not foresee, or he would be laughably early, waiting in the corridors - or worse, in front of the building - because nobody would let him in just yet.

Well, being too early was better anyways. He could spend the time bracing himself for the day to come, for strange new faces, for questions, for unknown material, for finding himself a position in the chorus, for Mr. Feltsman.

Miraculously, the door was already open and he could go inside to follow long, yellow-dark corridors towards the stage.

Each step took him closer and he still didn't feel too ready to face what lay ahead and...

But there it was, the stage, the auditorium, and there was Mr. Feltsman, already sitting in one of the chairs close to the orchestra pit.

Of course. Of course the one case Yuuri would have considered the worst – directly after being late – had to happen. Being the first to arrive was almost as bad as being dead last and only because being the last meant more eyes to stare at him.

He took a deep breath and came out into sight. "Good morning."

Mr. Feltsman looked up. "Ah. You here. Good. Warm up." He waved and then turned back to the newspaper he was reading.

Yuuri started with some breathing exercises, widening his lungs, then loosened his lips and tongue by making hissing, chortling sounds and blowing raspberries before finally getting to his vocal cords, moving his voice up and down in even, uninterrupted glides, before singing scores and then slowly moving on to simply three-tone melodies.

When he was done, Mr. Feltsman had put his newspaper aside and was watching him intently.

Yuuri tried his hardest to hold his gaze, but at the end he had to avert his eyes.

"Tenor, right?"

"Uh, yes. Last time I checked... just now..."

Mr. Feltsman raised an eyebrow and it occurred to Yuuri too late that he might not appreciate cheek. Well. Too late. But maybe it wasn't too late to slink away to a corner and die, in a potentially less painful way than what Mr. Feltsman might do to him.

But Mr. Feltsman did nothing that might have pointed towards the impending, painful termination of Yuuri's life.

Instead, he reached to the seat next to himself and grabbed a small folio. "There!" He lifted his arm and threw the thing for Yuuri to run after and catch it.

When he opened it, he found sheets of music.

"You got around fifteen minutes before most of the others arrive. Go through it and see what you already know. Practise the rest with me afterwards."

Yuuri leafed through the songs. "I... I think I'm good..." he admitted. "I mean, I know them from Maestro Caldini..."

"You sing any of them on stage?" Mr. Feltsman asked. Then he corrected himself: "Sang."

"Some of them," Yuuri admitted. " _Nabucco_ I never performed because I was considered too young, but I practised and studied it."

"With whom?"

With Celestino, Yuuri wanted to say, but that would have meant Mr. Feltsman thought of him as some sort of genius, deserving of such intense tutelage. Which he was not. He wasn't bad per se or he would not even sing in chorus or even a small solo role. But he most definitely wasn't what Mr. Feltsman would expect. And Celestino had practised these songs with him in private, for their own mutual amusement, so he had been lenient with him and...

"Nobody. Alone."

"Ah." Mr. Feltsman crossed his arms. "So, _Va, pensiero_ too?"

Yuuri nodded. "Yes."

"Good." He leaned back in his chair, looking up to Yuuri expectantly. "Well. Let's hear."

"What... no..."

Mr. Feltsman let out something like a growl. "You say no to me?" he asked, face twisting up. "You say no to me?! To me? You?!" He had risen from his chair, staring at him.

Yuuri's stomach churned.

"So! You sing now or not?!"

The nausea was getting worse by the second and still, Mr. Feltsman was staring at him.

So, finally, he nodded.

"Ah, fine. You need piano?"

Yuuri shook his head. "I... I gonna do myself." Why was his German leaving him, right now when it would have been really important to appear at least somewhat confident.

"As you will, but hurry up."

He stepped closer to the piano that was half-hidden behind the curtain, sheets of music in hand, and then he was out of Mr. Feltsman's line of sight.

This was good.

Yuuri actually managed to calm down his breathing, deepen the draws of air he took and settle his nerves, just a little bit.

It was enough so his fingers didn't tremble when they touched the piano keys, playing the first few beats that lead into the song, before his voice set in. "Va, pensiero, sull'ali dorate; va, ti posa sui clivi, sui colli, ove olezzano tepide e molli l'aure dolci del suolo natal!"

Somewhere along the singing he dared to come back out on stage, doing his best not to think about Mr. Feltsman sitting down there in his chair, looking at him with was most definitely was utter disapproval.

Instead, he focused on the song. "O mia patria sì bella e perduta! O membranza sì cara e fatal!" He would not allow himself to think too much about Milan anymore. He was here now. He was here.

It ended with "che ne infonda al patire virtù." and Yuuri let out a deep breath of relief after a second.

"Good." Mr. Feltsman nodded. "The rest of the songs in the repertoire? You know these too?"

"Uh, yes." Should he sing these too? Knowing would have been nice.

"Good."

There was not much more time. Yuuri already heard footsteps, many, many of them, and they all were light. Chorus singers were young, most of the time, hoping to rise through the ranks in time, becoming someone's understudy and maybe even lead singer themselves at some point. Those who didn't flourish when they grew older could either stay or try and find some other employment, maybe as a private music teacher or as a performer in a smaller theatre. Most stayed small, with small names, small incomes, small lives.

Yuuri had never dared to dream of anything big.

But here they were, the other singers, looking at him, some smiling, some gaping, all as if the Prima Donna herself had declared it proper and reasonable to practise with them.

"Oh. Morning," he mumbled, trying to smile at them.

They smiled.

"That sounded great!", some of them commented, "From what I've heard!", before theytook their designated places.

Yuuri relied on Mr. Feltsman's cues to join the tenor singers.

They positioned themselves, the other tenor singers happily taking Yuuri in their middle, because "it makes you flub less as a new starter", as one boy cheerfully explained.

Practise went on and it was... it was all right.

Yuuri found he liked the voices surrounded him and that he could sing along quite nicely with them.

Practise went along quite nicely, in fact, after they had warmed up and Yuuri actually found himself having fun singing with others, hearing their voices, singing with them, melting with them into the same song, following Mr. Feltsman's instructions and corrections after each piece.

It wasn't until eight o'clock that any of them heard another set of steps and then an annoyed, "Oi, Yakov, you wanna keep them for the whole day?!" from a young tenor voice that, in Yuuri's that Yuuri would always connect with flaxen hair and eyes too sharp, too smart and entirely too brash for their age.

Only then the spell was broken. Only then Yuuri woke up again, realizing that he was on stage, surrounded by dozens and dozens of people.

He looked around. Next to the curtain Yuri Plisetsky leaned against a beam, arms folded across his chest, a dour look on his face. "We wanna start, y'know?"

"Yeah, yeah. Good! Chorus, dismissed! The schedules for next week's evening performances hang on the board, check them up!" Mr. Feltsman waved at them and they broke formation.

"You sing really well," a young man said, next to him, smiling.

"Uh. Thanks." Yuuri managed to pull up the corners of his mouth. "Mr. Feltsman is pretty demanding, right?"

"Yes, but that's what makes us good." The man grinned. "I am Johannes."

"Yuuri." They shook hands while heading off the stage.

"Katsuki!"

Yuuri flinched and turned around. "Yes?!"

"One of the tenors has called in sick, so you're filling in for him tomorrow in the chorus. For the rest you'll check the board."

Yuuri's stomach once again dropped. That was... unexpected. He nodded, slowly, before following the others off the stage, along the corridors to the group changing room. They didn't have to change today, but Yuuri had already seen yesterday that the board with the schedules and announcements was next to the door of the changing room.

His name was somewhere in the middle of the tenor part of the list. Behind it were dates and the names of operas or singspiele.

Yuuri was scheduled for five evenings. That meant three different performances.

"As I said," Johannes grinned, "demanding job here, but that's what makes you good."

Yuuri nodded. "It's not worse than the Scala."

"Oh right, you're from Milan." Johannes looked him up and down. "You don't look Italian, mind you."

Yuuri raised an eyebrow.

"I guess you hear that a lot?"

"And I am familiar with the concept of looking glasses and able to apply this knowledge in my everyday life, yes." But still, Yuuri found himself smiling as he said this.

Johannes grinned. "Yeah, okay, admittedly, the only person in this whole opera who looks Italian is La Crispino, so, I guess we're in the same boat here."

Yuuri laughed. "Yes, seems like it."

They moved aside so the others could have a glance on the board as well.

"So, you've got time today, what you gonna do?" Johannes asked.

"Don't know. Maybe I'll take another look at the town, yesterday I didn't see so much. And practising. You?"

"I am on stage tonight, so I guess I'll rest at home. My sister always complains I'm too exhausted."

Yuuri nodded and smiled. "Good, then."

"See you tomorrow." Johannes turned, waving, and then he wandered off.

Yuuri looked after him for a bit before turning his attention back to the board.

For a few more moments he studied it and then turned away, making a mental note to bring a pen and paper with him tomorrow, so he could write it down properly.

It was still so early in the day. Performances did not start until five or six and would go on until as late as 11. Thankfully, chorus singers were generally not required to partake in any social after-functions, so Yuuri would hopefully not have to worry about lacking sleep.

"So?"

He turned around to find Yuri Plisetsky standing behind him, staring.

"Uh. Hello. Again," Yuuri mumbled, trying not to sound too disturbed about the fact that the boy was here, in front of the changing room, instead of the stage where he was supposed to be practising.

"Yakov's busy with Sara and Mila," Yuri mumbled. "Sara's understudy."

Yuuri nodded.

"So." The boy folded his arms in front of his chest. "You gonna try out for the _Wildschütz_?"

"I don't know yet," Yuuri admitted. "This _is_ my first day here and it seems the opera already has its pick on solo singers, so..."

"So, you're afraid?" Yuri's eyes darted up and down on him.

"What?" Yuuri blinked.

Now his eyes narrowed. "You afraid you gonna suck?"

"No, not... not really, I..." Yuuri found himself looking for words. "I mean, I simply don't think I'm gonna do too well, so, maybe I should focus on improving in general... I could do better next time?"

"Ah." Yuri took a deep breath. "So you don't wanna suck, so you don't try at all? Okay, we can shorten this period of anxiety." He took a step closer to Yuuri and Yuuri found himself walking backwards. He hit the wall. "If you think so, you suck, end of story. We don't need suckers here, we need folks who are good and who can sing."

The boy stood now directly in front of him, staring him in the eye. Yuuri wasn't sure whether he had ever seen so much disgust directed at him.

"Get out then, we don't need you!" And with that, he turned around and stomped off.

Yuuri stood and stared after him.

What the hell had that been about?

What...

He stood there and then he realized he was shaking his head. That was really weird.

He didn't know Yuri and the boy didn't seem like having taken a liking to him. Pretty much the opposite, at least compared to the other people Yuuri had at least attempted to engage so far.

Maybe it was his youth.

Or maybe he was simply a brat (which, admittedly, was a side effect of him still being so young. It would get lesser with age then. At least, Yuuri hoped so).

But still.

He found it strangely hard to turn around and go down the corridor to the door. His feet were heavy, slowed down.

He paused, close to the door.

So, basically, this child called him a coward because he was hesitant about a tryout.

Yuuri shook his head. Well, if that was a reason to call him a coward, then fine, really, that was fine.

But still. The boy had declared him unfit to sing because of this. And maybe that was the case to some degree. Someone too afraid for a tryout was certainly not fit for a solo spot at the center stage.

But this little brat apparently thought he could chase him out of the chorus. Before Yuuri had even made a place for himself here. The very idea left a sour taste in his mouth.

Again, he shook his head while his feet started walking again, turning, going back, to the stage.

Yuri Plisetsky was still standing there, behind the curtain, looking out on the stage.

"So," Yuuri sighed in something that probably was defeat, but for some reason did come out quite un-defeated, "You got the scores and a libretto for the _Wildschütz_ or what?!"

Considering small parts rarely ever had any solo numbers of a length to speak of, practising the big and important roles was inevitable when preparing for a try-out. The "Wildschütz" had only one big tenor part and that one had quite a few solo verses, so, more than enough material to take his pick from. The thing itself was a light-hearted opera buffa, so at least nobody would expect any gravitas in his presence. Gravitas very likely would have killed that sort of performance anyways.

In that way, Yuri Plisetsky was right. Yuuri would have no trouble with a role like the Baron Kronental.

Leafing through the libretto for a suitable piece to sing, he had had chuckled quite a few times; light-hearted as it was, the humor was just outright _vicious_ at times, with one young bride happily poking fun at the age of her middle-aged groom right in the beginning.

The story continued with circumstances threatening the wedding, dressup, crossdressing, going into hiding, mistaken identities, and utterly strange love situations.

And Yuuri had thought Italian opera could go over the top. Leave it to the Germans to blow it up even more. Also, leave it to the Germans to attempt and make allusions of incestuous adultery funny.

It resolved in some happily married love matches in the end; none of them incestuous or adulterous, so far.

There were smaller practise rooms in the back of the building and Yuuri made it his habit to go and find himself a free one after morning rehearsal and practise there for two hours or so.

The music was fun and energetic and easy enough to play if the lead melody was all one was trying for anyways.

Singing was a bit more tricky with these energetic, fun things that sounded so nice and easy, but were anything but.

Yuuri got into the routine of starting with a scene between the Baron and his brother-in-law, the Count of Eberbach, discussing how the unmarried Baron had snuck in under the disguise of a stable boy and had already started flirting with the Counts wife – who was also his sister. He sang the Baron's parts, only humming along whenever the Count had a line.

Once this was finished, he moved on to one of the first longer verses of the Baron in which he declared himself smitten with a supposedly poor young woman. "Ja, ich muss die Holde sehen, Und sie sprechen ganz allein; Weiss nicht, wie mir ist geschehen, Wunderbar nimmt sie mich ein. Möglich, dass dies Mädchen eben Krönet meiner Wünsche Streben Und mir dann versüsst des herben Lebens Pein!"

Yuuri almost pitied the poor fellow for this, but it was just too much fun to sing, his voice rising and falling along the lines. At this point, he always heard himself how the passion of an instant infatuation replaced the light, flighty way he had performed until then.

When one day he had finished his warm-up and straight up went to these verses of infatuation, the passion was already there.

That was good. He could recall emotion when needed. This was very, very, very good.

He then would move on to the second longer verse the Baron had, one he sang together with the Count, expressing their shared disbelief that their equally shared, poor, low-born sweetheart was engaged to a middle aged, homely school teacher. "Nein, es ist kaum zu glauben, Dass dieses Monstrum hier Imstande wär', zu rauben Der Mädchen schönste Zier! Und diese Rosenwangen, Sie sollten vor Verlangen Für diesen Alten glühn? Erdrosseln möcht' ich ihn!"

The disbelief and anger were no problem either. Good. Yes, that _was_ really fun to sing and Yuuri found himself looking forward to these few hours every day, in the morning, during rehearsal and when performing.

Occasionally, when he was almost done with singing through the baron's parts and his voice was warm and flexible and easy, the notes coursing through him and leaving him in a sweet flow.

His days slipped into an easy, familiar routine of rehearsal, practise and on most evenings, performances, during which he wrote a short letter, informing Celestino Cialdini of his safe arrival in Dresden and at the Opera, his good health and, after a moment of hesitation, the upcoming tryouts. These sort of things were what Celestino loved to hear, so Yuuri gladly provided.

He would usually chat with Georgi (at least on days the man wasn't obsessing over his former fiancée) as well as with Johannes and some other men from the chorus, sometimes after performances they would try and find some place for dinner in a group.

It most definitely helped Yuuri improve his grasp on German, to sit and listen to them exchanging stories and throwing good natured jabs at each other, even though he would never make sense of this mash up of accents they featured.

"Yuuri, you know any fun stories from the Scala?" Johannes one day asked, cheerfully chewing on a bit of potato dipped in curd. Their favourite dinner at the inn Seidelhof was wonderfully cheap and filling – hence its status.

The atmosphere was good – the performance of "Faust" tonight had gone off without a hitch. The solo singers had performed flawlessly, nobody in the ballet had had even the slightest misstep, everyone in the chorus had been on note. Which was how things should be, but rarely ever were. It was opera, there was always something happening causing minor drama and they had to work around it.

Which made for good stories they liked to share and pass around in a good mood.

And the mood was good. Mr. Feltsman had praised them. At least Yuuri had the feeling that his "like that tomorrow, folks" was a praise, considering the reactions of the other singers.

"Uh..." Yuuri quickly stuffed a piece of potato into his mouth to chew on and regretted it immediately since steamed potatoes had a tendency to be hot when coming fresh from the kitchen.

He desperately tried to roll the bite in his mouth without actually touching it with his tongue, grabbing for his beer to ease the pain a bit.

The hurt and the subsequent cooling made the beer actually almost drinkable.

"Urgh." Yuuri swallowed. "Now that's a story, a singer who dies of a hot potato and awful alcohol."

Johannes laughed. "I tell you, you will get used to beer."

"I do hope not before I can afford proper wine again." Still, the beer was cold and his mouth was still hurting a bit, so Yuuri took another sip. "Anyway, it's funnier when it happens to the director of the opera and involves some meatballs, spitting and the primadonna in her brand new, yellow dress. For a moment I thought she'd join the ranks of the ghosts haunting the Ducale."

There was a round of laughter and finally someone said: "You got many of them there?"

"Ghosts?" Yuuri rolled his eyes. "Every department has their own stories. Sometimes up to ten or so. It's become a competition of sort, whether ballet or singers or stagehands are better at creeping each other out."

"You got so many ghosts, send them over here!" A boy, Thomas laughed. "We got only one and he's been here for only a few years!"

Considering all the technology a stage demanded, the endless corridors, the ever present bustle of people, it wasn't hard to mistake a gust of wind for a moan or the creaking of floorboards for steps. And of course, when people left out sweetmeats to appease a ghost or two they would disappear.

Celestino had always made a show of laughing at these superstitions and secretly sprayed Holy Water on corridors and in rooms that were considered particularly haunted.

"One ghost? In how many years?" Yuuri inquired.

"Yes and a quiet one at that," Johannes grumbled. "Worst we've noticed was some rustling of curtains during a dress rehearsal. Send some of yours over, Yuuri, it would liven things up a bit."

Yuuri chuckled. "Maybe I can write Celestino to repeat the meatball incident, then we'd have one fresh and full of energy."

One of the other men snorted. "I would love to bear witness!"

"Yeah, with La Crispino it's kinda hard to do," Johannes sighed. "She always wears so dark colours."

"Let's face it, she would laugh at it and spit something on your shirt in revenge."

"So she's always so nice?" Yuuri asked.

"Yep." Johannes shrugged. "Dunno how she got to her position with being so nice and all, but I'm certainly not complaining. What was the yellow dress primadonna like?"

Yuuri spiked another piece of potato on his fork. "Her name is Angelique Farbenieu."

"Oh shit."

"Yes. She was at the Ducale when I was ten or so and she always complained about me being there." Yuuri puffed out his chest, throwing his head back. "Stage is not a place for children!" he then called in a thick. false french accent.

Around the table there was a round of eyeroll and occasional laughter.

Yuuri shrugged and then made an effort to speak casually, which was quite a feat considering the stilted nature of German. "She was less mean to me when I offered to walk her poodle for her. Even paid me, quite well too. And the dog was good. But to the rest of the folks, no. She was not nice. "

"Rarely a primadonna is," one man commented, "And La Crispino... I wouldn't be surprised if she decided to have seen enough of this world and return to heaven."

"Or Verona," Yuuri countered. "Which is close enough."

There was some laughter at the table and Johannes asked "Aw, why, you already miss the Italian beauties?"

Yuuri smiled at the jab. "More like the wine. And the absence of this awful beer."

His singing was secure these days, he could rely on his voice and he wasn't alone here. Two weeks passed and then the third, and Yuuri had to admit that it was far less horrible than he had at first feared. The Crispino was as kind and sweet to him as to anyone else, Yuuri made an effort to not cause trouble for any other singer and Yuri Plisetsky very pointedly did not even look in his direction, which Yuuri wasn't too sad about.

So when Mr. Feltsman ended their practise for the day with "Good then – those who want to try out for the "Wildschütz" stay!" Yuuri didn't at first realize what this meant.

He stayed, after all he wanted to try out and Georgi behind his piano looked pretty cheerful about that, packing away one stack of sheet music to replace it with another.

It sank in only after a moment, when some of the solo singers strolled in and sat down in the red cushioned chairs.

One of them was Yuri Plisetsky and in stark contrast to the days before his eyes now followed every step Yuuri took.

It was more than slightly unnerving.

Mr. Feltsman greeted them with a curt nod before sitting down himself. "Good, welcome to the tryout for the male roles for Lortzing's _Wildschütz_ , yaddayadda, you all are warmed up, so we can start with the bass. Anyone trying out for Baculus?"

No reaction whatsoever.

Yuuri glanced around, but none of the faces around him he could associate with the admittedly quite small bass section of the chorus.

"Nobody, eh? So, Pancratius neither?" Mr. Feltsman sighed. "Katsuki, you said you were trained to sing baritone?"

Yuuri flinched. "Yes..."

"Bass?"

Yuuri almost didn't dare to shake his head as he was stared down not only by Mr. Feltsman but by the other chorus members and by the solo singers down in their chairs as well.

He swallowed and then mumbled: "No. Baritone yes, but most definitely not bass."

Mr. Feltsman sighed. "Fine then. Johannes!"

Mr. Erhard, one of the bass singers here and the Sarastro in the current staging of the "Magic Flute" if Yuuri remembered correctly, sighed deeply. "Fine, Yakov, but you explain this to my wife. Or better, Yuri does."

"What?!" Yuri Plisetsky turned his head around, eyebrows raised until they almost disappeared under the strands that were insistently falling over his brows. "Why would I do that?!"

Mr. Erhard shrugged. "She adores you. You have the highest chance of not getting dismembered with a frying pan and a scrubbing board."

Mr. Feltsman sighed and The Crispino laughed. "I'll bring some wine to calm her nerves, Yakov and Johannes hold her down and me, Elise and Yuri deliver the news?"

Mr. Erhard sighed. "That might actually work. Thank you."

"We have a tryout here. Plan your tea parties some other time," Mr. Feltsman rumbled, before adding, "But count me in." He looked back onto the stage. "Good, no bass, what a great start, next time we have vacant spots in the chorus, remind me to hire more bass singers! Next role. Baritone. Count Eberbach! Baritone!"

Yuuri tried to slink away.

"Katsuki, I said Baritone, are you capable of singing Baritone or not?!"

Yuuri flinched, once again. He was, he was very much capable of singing baritone; Celestino had been immensely proud when he had realized how versatile his protégé's voice was and had put great effort into training him to utilize it to its full effect.

"If... from the first act, the thirteenth scene," he mumbled. "But I haven't prepared anything, I mean..."

"Either you prepared something you can sing," Mr. Feltsman snapped, "or not. Decide now. Sing or shut up."

Yuuri swallowed. "The _Diese Holde_ verse,", he finally said. The verse the count sang expressing his desire for a supposedly common girl, just before the baron voiced a similar desire.

Mr. Feltsman made a short gesture and Georgi started playing and –

It was so far. The emptiness was filling Yuuris ears, blocking everything, numbing the piano, numbing the mumbling that was arising around him.

His whole body had went cold.

He could not even open his mouth, he knew the words, he knew he had to set in, now Georgi was already on the second line, he...

Yakov sighed. "Stop. Next."

The world around Yuuri shifted, the auditorium angled and he saw the stage curtain moving to him.

Boxes and beams and levers and his line of view lowered and Johannes looked at him.

His mouth moved, but it took Yuuri a while until he could make out the words.

"You don't look too good – are you ok?"

"I..." Why was his voice so hoarse? He hadn't even sung...

He hadn't even sung.

Yuuri heard voices from the stage. Talking. Mr. Feltsman gave critique pointers. Someone else started singing.

"You should have insisted on not singing Baritone, if you weren't prepared for that," Johannes said.

Yes, he should have, he should have, he should have, he should have - and he hadn't.

"It wasn't right of him to ask you to sing a baritone part," Johannes continued.

But Yuuri had agreed and had given a music direction to Georgi, so...

"I'm sorry..."

"No, don't apologize..." Johannes sighed. "It's... maybe you can sing again when you're calmer?"

They both knew that this was not going to happen. Yakov Feltsman made no exceptions.

He glanced to the stage. "I am up now. You stay here, yes?"

Yuuri nodded.

More singing, more and more and always the same few pieces, solo verses and arias of the baron, music he had studied and worked on and prepared himself for.

What was he even doing here? Why had he thought that he could do this?! This wasn't even the first time, he couldn't even claim that this had never happened before, because oh, it had, it had happened, way too often, and Yuuri knew, and still he had tried.

Just... why?

He heard steps coming closer, very light, carefully set and measured.

"Well," Yuri Plisetsky said, "at least we have yet to explore all the ways you can suck. Can't say much about that if you don't even sing."

Yuuri didn't look up.

"What the hell was that about?!"

He flinched and a small, distant corner of his mind noted that this was in fact the first time that Yuri Plisetsky had indeed yelled at him. Or that he had heard the boy yell at all. Quite some self-control, considering the ever-simmering anger that lingered in every move of his, in every glance he cast around, in every slight tilt of his head.

He had definitely better self control than Yuuri.

His eyes were burning, his cheeks hot and then he heard Yuri Plisetsky yelling again.

"What the hell, are you crying now?! What?"

And he wanted to stop, he really, he didn't want to cry at all, but it wouldn't stop, the tears would not stop and...

"What the hell are you even doing here?! What was that, I have heard you practising that shit, you should have been fine one way or another, why did you..."

"Yuri."

Oh. Mr. Feltsman. Great someone else to yell at him. Yuuri's hands started to move again, digging for a handkerchief, keeping his head down.

"Elise is here, you four can get started now, go through your parts. If Claus, Thomas and Maria are early, you can practise the dialogue between Papageno and Tamino."

The boy huffed, but Yuuri heard him walking away in carefully measured, light steps.

Which wasn't much of a relief, considering how Mr. Feltsman was staring down on him now.

"You come into my office with me."

Oh, that was it, he would be now officially told to please leave and find another employment. Maybe another line of work entirely. Probably in less polite terms, this was Yakov Feltsman he was talking about.

The man led him through the maze of the backstage to the more organized hallways in the back of the building.

His office door was small and unassuming and only a small nameplate denoted its occupant and his relative importance to the house. "Director for musical performance affairs" did sound grave indeed.

The interior, in contrast, was spartan and lived-through, the desk big and stable, but without ornament and white paint slowly chipping off of it. Same went for the cushionless chairs and the shelves containing thick ledgers and books.

He let Yuuri in. "Take a seat."

Yuuri did so.

Mr. Feltsman went around the desk and sat down, folding his hands on the desk. "Johannes made sure the other chorus singers took the exit on the other side from the stage. Remember to thank him for that."

Yuuri nodded.

"That happened before?"

"Y..." Damnit. "Yes." He finally managed to look up. "I'm sorry..."

To his surprise, Mr. Feltsman didn't look angry or even disgusted. His face, in fact, was about as kind and gentle as it could get, stern as it was. "I see. What did Cialdini say about it?"

"That I had no reason for this, that I just needed more confidence, but..." Yuuri shrugged, there was nothing to add, but he wanted to, at least for himself.

Mr. Feltsman nodded. "Speak of the devil, you've got mail." He reached into one of his drawer and pulled out an envelope, handing it to Yuuri.

The handwriting that said "To Yuuri Katsuki, at the Semperoper in Dresden" was unmistakably Celestino's.

Something in Yuuri's stomach lurched, far more than it should have at a letter from his guardian.

"He sent it here since he couldn't figure your address. You should write it to him, can't take your letters forever, I'm not a mail man."

Yuuri swallowed.

"Take today and tomorrow off. I'll have someone fill in for you tonight."

"What..."

"You're a mess," Mr. Feltsman stated. "And I doubt you'll be fine by tonight. And while the chorus tonight is big enough for one missing voice to not be noticed, one singer freezing up on stage is not so easy to hide. Or crying. Don' get me started on the crying. Could go on for days. Also, it makes the other singers nervous. Do yourself the favour. Get some sleep. Come back the day after tomorrow. There'll be other auditions this year."

So he was not being fired.

Yuuri sat very still, while his brain was racking over this new bit of information. He was not being fired. He was, in fact treated with an almost worrying amount of kindness.

"I am really sorry for the inconvenience," he mumbled.

Mr. Feltsman waved. "Just go and get some rest."

Yuuri swallowed hard and then got up. "Thank you. And... and I am sorry."

"I know." Mr. Feltsman nodded. "We'll see how to work on this. See you."

This was a dismissal and Yuuri thought it might be better if he did as he was told now.

With soft steps he left the office and closed the door behind him.

With soft steps he wandered the hallways.

With soft steps he found himself backstage, listening to the soloists going through their parts before leaving again, looking for one of the empty rooms.

Mr. Feltsman had told him to go and sleep and get some rest, but going back to Mrs. Haubener's house would mean that he'd inevitably run into one of the other singers. Yuuri wasn't so sure he could stand this right now, not now, not like this.

So there he waited.

For a while he sat there, on the floor, next to the piano, holding Celestino's letter in his hands.

He didn't really want to read it. He already could tell what it said, but as long as he didn't read it, he didn't have to face it.

There he sat, staring at the wall or at the ceiling. Or the piano, listening to the bustle outside that went on and on for some time.

The piano was warm in his back, a strong, firm support to lean against, to wait and sit and wait and hold the envelope.

It went quiet at some point, both outside the room and inside Yuuri's chest.

They would start preparing the stage for this evening's performance.

In an hour or so, he assumed by looking out of the window, the soloists would come and get dressed into their costumes. In another hour the chorus singers would arrive and do the same. At the same time, the ballet dancers would arrive. They would all get ready, warm up and go over some key lines a last time.

And then the audience would be let in, first those on the cheap front seats, dressed in their best for a nice evening out. Not at all fine clothes, but respectable, dark linen dresses with high necklines and a hint of lace here or there. Clothes very similar, but the fabric just a little more expensive than what a respectable woman of the upper middle class would wear during the day.

Of course, a woman wearing a dark, modest dress as her best was most definitely not upper middle class. Just as the men wearing what for others was a daytime suit for an opera date were at best low-tier clerks and more likely lowish-tier craftsmen or maybe factory workers.

They sat just in front of the stage, with a poor view on what was happening above their heads, cheapest seats for the largest, but poorest component of their audience.

Behind them, with a gap separating the seating group, was the smaller, fortunate group of well-to-do shop owners, traders, the occasional teacher, maybe even the odd knight and count.

At last only the highest-paying patrons of the opera would take seat, the richest bourgeois of Dresden, some courtiers and their ladies from the royal court, on very special occasions the king and his immediate family, although Yuuri had heard that this last prominent audience member would only appear on opening nights for a new staging and only for a few select favourite pieces at that.

Yuuri had never seen the curtains to the royal box drawn back.

He would not see it today either, considering how Mr. Feltsman had insisted on not seeing him here for the next few days.

Here, there would be silence, only utter silence.

So, maybe now it was safe to open the letter now, now nobody would hear him, just in case he would cry or make another too-loud noise he didn't want anyone to hear.

He stared at the envelope.

Celestino's handwriting greeted him, smiling almost, and it made his stomach churn.

Slowly, he tore open the envelope at the side and reached in.

It was only a short note, thank goodness. What it was, was enough to clench up his throat.

 _Yuuriccino,_

 _I am glad to hear you are well and that you are trying out. This alone makes me proud._

 _With love,_

 _Celestino Cialdini_

Maybe Celestino hadn't expected him to succeed, but was simply giving him praise for effort. He would not be disappointed by his failure. He was expecting it to happen, plain and simple.

Or maybe he had been hoping for Yuuri to get a part. Maybe he was looking forward to finally say, "See, I knew you could be something if you just stopped being scared all the time", and now he would not get to say these words and be annoyed by it.

He had meant well with his note. Yuuri knew that. He could see it in the swing of his writing, a little loopy like the smile he had on his face when Yuuri had managed to do something right for a change.

He had meant to encourage him or let him know that it was alright if he didn't get a solo part but that didn't change the fact that right now, Yuuri was desperately fighting to draw breath again.

Just why? Why was he like this? Why couldn't he be different, why, why, why...

A strangled, choked-up noise filled the room and it took Yuuri a moment to realize that it was his own voice, coming out in a low whimper, that soon turned into a series of hard, wrecked sobs.

At least he could keep it low. At least, after some time, he stopped, breath harsh and lungs burning.

It would be best to wait until the performance had ended and the performers had left the building. Then, when only the stagehands were left, he could slip out and go back home, get to bed, get some sleep.

He already knew he'd feel like starving the next day – he had had breakfast today, but that was about it. But right now, he was too empty to feel hungry, even though his stomach was painfully cramping. Crying tended to take it out of him, especially when it went without tears.

He had messed up. He had messed up big time and anyone else but Mr. Feltsman would have very likely fired him. Hell, he had thought Mr. Feltsman would fire him.

Still, here he was.

Yuuri took a deep breath. There would be other auditions. He would mess them up as well, very likely, but there would be other auditions.

For now it was over.

He ran a hand over the claviature before pressing down, letting the tones rise and linger in the air, then another few, weaving a melody, humming along.

His voice wasn't even remotely warmed up, but still, he sang that damn piece that he had failed to perform before, just so he could say he had done it today, at least to himself.

"Diese Holde dort zu sehen Und zu sprechen sie allein, Mich im Tanz mit ihr zu drehen, Soll mir eine Wonne sein. Eurer Wohlfahrt nur zu leben, Ist mein Trachten, mein Bestreben, Wird stets meine Sorge sein!"

The lines of the Count came out a bit wobbly, his voice not sung smooth enough for him to hold the baritone all the way through, but it was still a decent performance, nothing to earn him a solo spot, strained as his voice was.

He continued tinkering out the melody until he reached the thing he had actually wanted to sing. "Ja, ich muss die Holde sehen Und sie sprechen ganz allein...", he went on.

Singing in Baritone had been a grossly insufficient warm-up and he felt it. Even in tenor, his singing voice struggled and strained against his throat. Hitting the notes was a challenge like this, but miracle of miracles he did it, singing the blasted thing all the way through, although he didn't even remotely feel like someone experiencing love – or at least some form of infatuation – and having his whole life brightened by it.

But still. Singing. No mistakes. That was worth something. His fingers tapered over the piano for a bit, playing bits and pieces of the "Wildschütz", before ending up on yet another piece sung by the baron, confessing his love to the supposed commoner who caused him so much emotional suffering. "Von meiner heissen Lieb' allein Red' ich zu deinem Herzen. Wirst du noch ferner grausam sein, Erwachen alle Schmerzen Aufs neu in mir! Nicht trag' ich mehr dies Leben; preisgegeben Fühl' ich mich der Verzweiflung wieder; Ein tötend Gift oder Blei, einerlei, Gift oder Blei, was es auch sei, Soll mir willkommen sein, Zu enden meine Pein."

The fact that the young woman he so desperately implored to marry him was his actual intended, and not some low-born and already engaged girl, didn't change the fact that he was most definitely not a role Yuuri would ever like to sing.

His fingers still flitted over the piano when he was done with the part, moving up and down and he didn't even notice that he had switched the major key, until his fingers made the familiar melody materialize in the room.

"Va, pensiero,", his voice started to mumble, a whisper at first, "sull'ali dorate;va, ti posa sui clivi, sui colli," and slowly, it found its step into the melody, "ove olezzano tepide e molli l'aure dolci del suolo natal! Del Giordano le rive saluta..."

It was a wrecked, broken attempt at the song, but it still helped a bit

At the very least, Yuuri sighed, he would be able to relate better to such mournful songs, if he ever got a chance to sing them again.

"Del Giordano le rive saluta, di Sionne le torri atterrate…" His voice was harsher than usual when he sang this choir piece, rougher. Or maybe _he_ just felt rougher. "O mia patria sì bella e perduta! O membranza sì cara e fatal!" It certainly didn't fit with the mournful, resigned longing the Jews expressed for their long lost home.

He wanted to go home. He just... he just wanted to run and go back and be somewhere where he could be okay, where he might fit in without always sticking out, where people would not stare at him for his eyes and his face and his skin and...

"Arpa d'or dei fatidici vati, perché muta dal salice pendi?" The words came out in a strangled sob. "Le memorie nel petto raccendi, ci favella del tempo che fu!"

He was so weak. No wonder he couldn't perform properly, no wonder he was a failure, no wonder Celestino had sent him away. He couldn't even sing properly.

"O simile di Solima ai fati traggi un suono di crudo lamento, o t'ispiri il Signore un concento che ne infonda al patire virtù."

The last few verses were choked out and Yuuri sank down to the floor, curling up next to the piano.

It wasn't until the small hours of the morning that he got up and moved and snuck out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 03**

He went to the boarding house, the usual half-hour walk to the Bundschuhstraße seemingly endless tonight, and arrived when the sky was just beginning to take on that transparent, unreal grey that announced the upcoming burst of colour that was the sunrise, sneaking in without anybody noticing.

When he undressed – carefully as to not rise his room mates – and slipped under his blanket, the sky was already tinted in rosy golden tones.

Yuuri couldn't care less. As soon as his head touched the pillow, his eyelids, already heavy from the exhaustion and a woken-through night, lowered and he fell into a dreamless, light sleep.

He managed to sleep through the rustle and bustle of four men waking up, getting dressed and talking to each other about last night and what they had planned for this day.

It lasted only a few hours; when he woke up, the sun had fully risen, but was still standing fairly low.

His stomach was a tight, painful knot with a hollow centre; it was enough to almost make him vomit. In addition, his throat was raw and every little swallow he did set it on fire.

Very likely he sounded like a horseshoe run over a washing board. Even if Mr. Feltsman had not already sent him home to for the next few days , he most certainly would have done so now.

So, there he was, with a few days off. What was he to do with this time?

Most definitely not getting breakfast now. Mrs Haubener would kill him if he asked for her to warm up the kitchen again and honestly, Yuuri had better uses for his little money in mind than to go to an inn. Maybe he'd stop at a bakery. Or maybe just try and risk his life to get some hot tea from Mrs. Haubener or one of her helpers. (Tea wasn't as troublesome as a whole breakfast.)

Or maybe, he decided as he got dressed, he'd skip that as well. It wouldn't be the first time he went hungry for a day or so, even though the last time was a very, very distant memory and it had been a rather short period of poverty before Celestino was appointed head director of the Scala and could feed them properly again.

The mass was empty, sans a few couples who met there, sitting at a table and talking in a low murmur.

Yuuri discovered Georgi, who seemed to be in deep conversation with a dark-haired girl that looked like she was from the ballet corps.

Head lowered, he quickly ushered past them, but it was too late – Georgi looked up, noticed him and waved.

Oh no...

Yuuri wanted to hurry away, but he already had excused himself from his girl and was getting up and walking towards him.

So, Yuuri stayed.

Georgi came up to him. "Hey. You ok?"

Of course. Yuuri's throat clenched up a bit and he coughed slightly. "I... I think I'm fine. I guess. Mr. Feltsman told me to take a few days off."

"Do so. He'll get mad if you show your face at the opera house when he ordered you to rest." Georgi lifted a hand to place it on Yuuri's shoulder, but then had the good sense to leave it be. "I... well, I was worried when you didn't come back last night. Johannes too. You were out?"

"Not really." Yuuri shook his head. "Hid in one of the practise rooms, actually."

"Ah, I see."

"Sorry."

Now the hand did land on Yuuri's shoulder. "It's alright. You don't look too good, though."

As if Yuuri didn't know that. "Just need some fresh air." He swallowed. "Thanks for worrying."

Georgi smiled. "Get well, I, uh..."

"No more plans on making your ex-fianceé regret her life choices?" Yuuri asked.

Georgi shrugged. "Maybe. A little. But Maria is just so sweet and kind and..."

Yuuri felt a chuckle bubble up in his throat. "Then get back to her. I hear girls don't take kindly to being left waiting."

Georgi laughed. "Heard that too – so... you're here tonight?"

"Probably. Got to let Johannes know I'm still alive." With a last smile and a wave he was out and on the street.

It was a bright, warm day in middle of May, the air scented with bright, fresh green and flowers and the promise of maybe a shower later the day, with thick, fluffy clouds building up on the horizon.

A soft breeze ushered through the streets, messing up his hair a bit and carrying the scents of the nearby Elbe, and Yuuri found himself following that breeze there.

The riverbanks were a favourite spot of many a town dweller to enjoy some fresh air and greenery and watch the ships and boats and ferries pass.

But today was a Friday, not an actual workday for most people. The only folks Yuuri saw here today were either of the Bohemién profession or one of the odd Mohammedans – or possibly both, who knew?

The banks were blissfully deserted and he let himself fall down here, smelling the water, rich and full and without that strangely dulling, somewhat mouldy bite the sea held.

Yuuri found it slightly lacking, thanks to that, but it was better than what he had had in Milan. Before coming there, Celestino and him had spent a few years – some of them in wealth, some in decent circumstances, half of one in poverty – in Naples, near the sea, the scent of which had never truly left Yuuri. Maybe one day, again.

Right now, the Elbe was enough for him, sitting there, looking at the water and the boats passing by.

It was cathartic, imagining the water taking on any and all of his worries and carrying them away as it moved and ran and hurried towards the sea.

So, where to go from here? Him freezing up under duress wasn't new. In fact, Yuuri strongly suspected it to be the reason why Celestino had sent him away in the first place.

He could go back, of course. Celestino would be sad, maybe disappointed, but he would welcome Yuuri back with open arms nonetheless, no matter what.

Yuuri didn't want to go back. Yuuri didn't want to look him in the eye and say, "I messed up. I've failed. I'm sorry."

Didn't change the fact that he wanted to go home, wherever that might be, whether Milan or Naples or just anywhere.

A few boats floated by, men on deck working the ropes and oars. Yuuri could hear their calls even up here the river banks.

Noon came and went and he watched the sun go around, people wander by in a peaceful afternoon stroll, with nobody paying him attention.

Just as well.

"Ah, there you are."

And his alone time was over.

Yuuri sighed and turned around.

Yuri Plisetsky stood next to him, looking down at him.

Something didn't look quite right about him, although Yuuri had no idea what it was.

In any case, his presence most definitely wasn't anything he desired.

"Go away," he mumbled.

Yuri Plisetsky snorted. "Hey, it's not like I wanna spend my free time running around this stupid city, looking for your stupid ass!" He sounded decidedly miffed and Yuuri felt a spike of annoyance at it.

"Well, here I am, you found me, congratulations, you can go now."

Yuri Plisetsky came one small step closer to him. "Eh," he mumbled, arms crossed, staring at the water. "Well, as I said, the realms of how much you can suck are still left to be explored, at least. It's still all open."

"So, me not being able to sing isn't the biggest failure you can imagine?" Yuuri snorted.

"You could switch to falsetto all of a sudden."

"Thank you, I like my throat intact and my ears not bleeding."

"Good. You in falsetto would suck and you'd look awful in a dress."

Yuuri looked the boy up and down in all his slenderness and sharp, clear angles. "Unlike you?"

True enough, Yuri turned a nasty shade of violet, although he did seem to shrug it off with genuine ease.

"You'll probably grow out of it in two or three years anyway."

"Can't wait for it. Dresses are annoying. How do women do it?"

Yuuri shrugged. "Ask a woman, how would I know?"

There was a moment of silence before Yuri Plisetsky asked, "What sort of girl roles did you have?"

"Mostly chorus when I was younger, the usual." Yuuri shrugged. "When my voice changed, I got an alto on occasion, for a verse or so, but about three years ago Celestino and the costume department finally agreed that I didn't make for a convincing woman any more and arrivederci, hoop skirts and wigs."

"Hoop skirts," Yuri muttered with clear disgust.

"So, you still sing girl roles despite being an established soloist?"

"Sometimes," Yuri nodded. "If there's demand and need." He made a face. "Or if a rich and influential patron wishes to be delighted," Yuuri muttered without much thought.

It had the effect of Yuri giving him a sidelong glance and he shrugged. "Keeping the illusion of pretty little Miss Songbird intact."

"Nobles are weird," Yuri sighed, "Not that this is in anyway news. They were ok though?"

They had been, maybe because Celestino had insisted of always coming along. Still, the implication needled him. "I doubt you went through the trouble of finding me just to chat about girl roles. What's the matter? Want..." He struggled for a moment with the German language, before giving up and switching to Italian. "If you just want to laugh at me, kindly piss off."

Yuri blinked at him, then answered in Italian as well. "You don't look like you usually use such speech." In Italian he had a thick accent, that sounded not at all German. It reminded Yuri more of how Georgi spoke German.

"I wish I could say the same about you, but well. So, what do you want?"

Yuri now started digging through his pockets and all of a sudden the sense of wrongness was gone.

Yuuri had never before seen the boy with anything but varying degrees of scowling as his default expression. The very idea of Yuri Plisetsky expressing something like friendly interest in someone else was - Yuuri did not want to find it disturbing, but that was what it was.

"There was a message for you. I was ordered to bring it to you." He handed Yuuri an envelope.

He took it. No address, no name, nothing. "Why would you think this is for me?"

"Because that idiot told me so," Yuri grumbled. "Blergh. You'll be back tomorrow?"

Yuuri thought about it for a bit. He still didn't want to face Mr. Feltsman or any of the other singers.

But then again, he had never gotten much rest in Milan.

"If you fall, you get back up and go on. If you stop for too long, you won't start again at all," Celestino had always said. Celestino also wouldn't have been happy with him having a day off.

Yuuri should have protested against Mr. Feltsman giving him the day off, he really should.

"Yes, I will," he nodded.

"Good. See you then." Yuri turned around and wandered off, posture stiff and shoulders high, some fair strands of his hair fluttering, having gotten loose from the band in his neck.

And it still rubbed him wrong, somehow, but well.

He turned the envelope in his hands and then, finally, opened it.

It was only a short note in a very precise, clear handwriting, with only one large, flowing loop on the last letter that underlined the whole note.

 _Your voice is admirable_

What? Just, what?!

Yuuri blinked, then looked up to where Yuri Plisetsky was still wandering along the riverbanks.

Head running with various incantations of "What the hell?!" Yuuri got up and followed him, steps large and brisk.

He quickly caught up to him. "Wait, hey!"

Yuri Plisetsky halted and turned around, one eyebrow raised. "Huh? What?"

Yuuri swallowed, then held out the note to him. "I don't think you've written this?"

The boy crinkled his nose in dismay. "What, no, why?"

As expected. Yuuri let out a deep breath. "This is cruel, mean and... and..." Focus, Yuuri, focus. "Whoever wrote this should better look for someone else to pick on."

Yuri blinked up on him, then looked at the note. "Urgh," he muttered and Yuuri was very sure to hear him mumble something about, "Told him it was a bad idea." Then he sighed. "Fine."

Fine? Just fine? No complaining, no insulting, nothing? Just "fine"? Yuuri wondered if everything was all right with the boy.

"See you tomorrow then." With that, Yuri Plisetsky once again turned and took his leave.

Well, that still left him the whole afternoon to get through and he probably could not sit on the riverbank forever.

So, what to do now?

Going back to the boarding house would have been silly. At that time, there would be nobody Yuuri actually knew too well. Today's evening performance was a small concerto, so Georgi was on duty tonight. He would not be there and Yuuri still hadn't made any closer friends here.

So, maybe another stroll during the city.

He put on his hat, pulling the rim deep into his face, walking for a bit along the river until he reached one of the many large, richly carved sand stone bridges that connected the northern half of the city with the southern old town.

He wandered up into the north half of the city, sauntering along the Elbe here now as well, admiring the Canaletto view he had so often seen on water colour paintings or in sketches and how the full, round dome of the Church of Our Lady rose behind the August bridge and contrasted with the slender, high-pointed spire of the Royal Court Church that looked on to the river like a ship sailing upstream, only missing its sail. Behind the Court Church the Castle Dresden rose, and to the right the church was flanked by the theatre building.

Pitch black and set off with accents of gold and green-aged copper roofs, the churches and the castle stood in stark contrast to the bright, creamy yellow of the Royal Theatre; the building had been finished only seven years prior, the sand stone hadn't had the time yet to darken with years and weather.

The silhouette set the sky ablaze in glassy clear, bright blue that just went on and on and on in what had to be layers and layers of the same, transparently vibrant hue, all laid over another.

Such a lovely day.

And here he was, apparently not even able to enjoy it.

Inwardly, Yuuri groaned. As if thinking like that had ever helped him or had ever changed anything – hell, thinking like that had not even changed the fact that he thought like that.

The green of the Königsufer meadow was almost biting in his eyes and it was a relief when he reached the Albrecht bridge and could turn back towards the time-blackened sand stone buildings that gave Dresden its character.

The dark, for today empty and abandoned square of the Neustadt Market place was almost balm for his eyes in its somberness. Maybe minus the rather tacky, fire-gilt statue of a horse rearing, rider on his back looking eastward. Yuuri saw it, looked up to it and immediately decided to have never seen anything so utterly ugly in his entire life. Well, maybe Angelique Farbenieu's smallest, yappiest and rattiest dog was about as ugly, but only by a hair and by virtue of sharp teeth.

Germans, he decided, had let French tastes influence them way too much. Of course, the only genuinely French thing he had ever seen had been Angelique Farbenieu and her admittedly angelic singing, but that was very much enough to sate his curiosity for anything French for life.

But well. Celestino had told him to take a look at the Golden Rider if he found the time. He could now consider this done. Good. What else was there to do for him?

"Hey? Yuuri!"

Apparently, it was the day for him to run into theatre acquaintances, despite him not even being there.

Turning around, he saw Johannes waving at him, flanked by two women. He was smiling. "Hey, good to see you out!"

"Yes, It was such a nice day and staying stuck inside would probably have driven me crazy."

One of the women - still a girl, really- glanced to him. "Johannes, who is this young man? Someone from the theatre?"

"Oh yes, I am so sorry. This is Yuuri Kahtzucki. Fellow tenor in the chorus."

Yuuri had long since given up on correcting the way people pronounced his name. It didn't change a thing and hell, how would Yuuri himself know? Celestino knew some Japanese, along with Chinese, Russian, French, Spanish and Greek, and had tried his best to keep Yuuri's knowledge of his mother tongue alive, but Yuuri still hoped to never get into a situation where his lack of fluency might be revealed.

He smiled politely at the two women.

"This is my sister Johanna," Johannes said, gesturing at the girl. She hinted at a curtsy and likewise, Yuuri hinted at a bow. "You see how much thought our parents put into naming us?"

"I am truly impressed." Curses upon curses for his Italian accent. It had always raised far too many questions.

Miss Johanna smiled.

"And this," Johannes continued, pointing to the older woman, "is Mrs. Eleonora Awesfeld, a great patron of the stage and the performing arts."

Mrs. Awesfeld, tall, thin and dark haired, smiled kindly, exuding an air of subdued elegance. "Oh, I do remember having seen you perform in the chorus." She did not curtsy. Yuuri in turn bowed a bit deeper than for Miss Johanna. "Johannes said you're from Milan?" Yuuri prayed to be spared a comment on his looks at least once. "How do you like it here in Dresden?" she asked, "I imagine you must be cold here considering the Italian climate."

Oh, good. He could deal with that. Yuuri nodded. "It is a bit colder than what I know. But the days are getting warmer, so it is all good. And Dresden is a lovely city." The golden statue blinked in the sun. "For the most part."

Mrs. Awesfeld chuckled. "Oh yes, our great and gracious Prince Elector and King of Poland. We all love him."

"My dear, you are not even from Dresden," Johannes chided kindly, "you don't understand how important this piece of ugliness is to us."

"And hopefully I never will," Mrs. Awesfeld sighed.

"You must miss home awfully lot, Mr. Kahtzucki?" Johanna inquired. "I imagine Dresden is quite different from Milan?"

She looked a lot like her brother, with the same heart-shaped face and long nose and round eyes and the same grey eyes and dirty blonde hair that was taken back in two neat braids.

However, her gaze was decidedly more unsettling than the way Johannes had looked at him when they had first met.

"It is, yes. I guess, every city in every country is different," Yuuri answered after a moment's pause. "But thankfully, music is pretty universal. As long as there's an opera house I will always feel at home somewhere."

Mrs. Awesfeld looked at Johannes with something like playful resentment. "My, my. We were told his new colleague was gifted with a wonderful voice, but you also seem to have a bit of a poet's touch, huh?"

"Well, Italians have a way with words," Miss Johanna interjected. "But yes, Johannes did praise your voice up and above. Say, Mr. Kahtzucki, do you plan on any solo roles? We would be looking forward to this."

A trickle of ice ran down Yuuri's throat and collected in his stomach. He noticed how Johannes looked at him and then shifted his weight from one leg on another.

Yuuri swallowed. "Presently not, no."

"But why? Since my brother praises your voice so highly, you surely are good enough to try out. Johannes does it pretty often."

Something in Yuuri's stomach turned hard and cold. He could feel the smile freeze on his lips. His fingers started trembling and he quickly folded his hands behind his back. Also, he straightened his shoulders. Celestino had always recognized these quirks as signs that something was amiss, but thankfully, Johannes was not privy to such embarrassing knowledge.

"And I have yet to land anything, so I am not sure why this would be of any importance," Johannes replied quite hastily.

Mrs. Awesfeld laughed. "Well, well, you are still very young. Your voice will develop a bit more with age and practise. Rarely a singer gets a solo part in their twenties. With some notable exceptions, of course, and Johannes, really, you do need to introduce me to Mr. Plisetsky!"

"He barely speaks to the chorus singers, though," Johannes pointed out. "That will make this endeavour somewhat difficult for now."

"Aw," she sighed, "that's just too bad."

Miss Johanna tugged at Johannes' sleeve. "I fear we have to take our leave now. Mr. Kahtzucki, it was a pleasure."

Somehow, Yuuri sincerely doubted that, at least on her behalf.

He bowed, then clasped hands with Johannes.

"You'll be back tomorrow?"

"Yes." Yuuri nodded.

"You ok, though?"

"I think so. Gotta be." He wasn't, not really, but that was beside the point. Yuuri sighed. "Thank you."

"Anytime. Sorry about Johanna, she never quite mastered the subtle art of tact."

Yuuri smiled. "It's okay. Are you on stage tonight?"

"Yeah. We're just out for a bite, before I have to head back to the theatre." Johannes leaned in closer. "Eleonora tries to make it to every of my performance nights and Johanna is always so insulted if she gets left out." He rolled his eyes. "Women."

"Now that's a set of worries I'd like to have." Yuuri managed a chuckle, while the knot tightened. "See you tomorrow."

Tomorrow came too early for his taste. Waking up, Yuuri felt again the cold, hard knot in his stomach. Just that, by now it seemed to have risen up right under his throat and Yuuri very much did not like the feeling of it. Could he sing like that?

Probably not, but he still had to show his face, so up and dressed he got, walked downstairs, grabbed a mug of strong, black tea (which did not count as a meal, so none of his precious meal marks were spent on this) and, after downing it in a few big gulps, headed out.

The heat was a blessing, searing down his throat in a way that would have sent Celestino into mad, raging fits and lectures about how he was supposed to take care of his voice.

But it melted the ice in his throat and warmed and softened the hard knot in his stomach a bit and it helped him to notice the sweetness of the air and how cloudless the sky was as he stepped out quicker, faster.

The half-hour walk towards the theatre was over far too quickly.

For a moment, Yuuri closed his eyes, took a deep breath – his throat struggled against it, but finally, finally gave in to this request – and then again, again, again, until he finally could trust himself again to breathe properly.

Only then he approached the door of the side entry and entered the warm, softly dark corridors that made up the back scenery of the theatre.

Upon entering, his throat tightened again and again Yuuri paused, breathing in and out, in and out, in and out.

No need to fret, no need to worry. It would be alright.

Still, his feet dragged a bit as he headed towards the backstage area.

Coming closer, he already heard the voices of his fellow singers and it gave him another moment of pause.

Then he heard steps behind him, someone calling "Morning, Yuuri!" and then they passed himwithout even so much as a throwaway glance.

Oh. So maybe it would be ok?

Maybe he would be spared too many stares and comments then?

With a deep sigh, he went up the stairs and headed out for the stage. "Uh. Morning."

Most of the other singers were already there, only three or four faces still missing. Some of them looked up as he came out, but aside of a few nods and short calls of "Morning!", nothing happened.

All of a sudden, breathing got a lot easier and he nodded in reply.

Down in his chair they saw Mr. Feltsman looking up to them, clearly impatient for them to get ready to start warming up and then to begin with their practise.

The last few missing members of their troupe sauntered in, they greeted each other and then lined up, all the while Mr. Feltsman called, "All right, all right, everyone, tea party is over, let's get to work! We start with the _Magic Flute_ and then go through the chorus pieces of the _Tannhäuser_. Since this is so blessedly short, we'll start going through the chorus verses for the _Wildschütz_ afterwards. Premiere is in four weeks, don't you dare not being properly familiar with the score by then."

Yuuri's stomach once again started to flutter, but still, no glances, no meaningful grin in his direction, nothing. Great. He wasn't familiar with Wagner, really great.

Nobody seemed to notice if his voice was a bit wobbly at the "Es lebe Sarastro, Sarastro soll leben!"

It definitely made it easier and the wobbliness of his voice was gone when they went through "Oh Isis und Osiris schenket der Weisheit Geist dem neuen Paar!"

And at the very least, nobody acted different around him than usual, so he also could conclude that either the sender of that stupid note wasn't among his chorus mates or if the was, that he or she considered it enough. In that case, Yuuri heartily agreed with whomever it was.

When they went through the _Tannhäuser_ pieces, he was silent, listening closely. The chorus didn't have much to do in this opera, only two four-liners. Would be easy to memorise.

Rehearsing something new tended to take its sweet time as well as their full attention.

They didn't even notice how the time went by or how other people came up behind the curtains, patiently waiting for their turn to practise and rehearse.

And maybe, just potentially, they did take a little too long to finish up, yes.

Still, Yuuri couldn't help but finding it incredibly rude when a voice started yelling behind them. "How long you gonna waste other people's time, eh?!"

Johannes sighed. "Plisetsky is as charming as ever, eh?"

"Don't tell me you'd expect anything less from him," Yuuri replied, equally dry. "You should try to introduce him to your Eleonora. Maybe we'd even get to witness him display something resembling well-mannered behaviour."

"Yeah or he'd shock her into a heart attack." Their formation was beginning to break loose, a process clearly catalysed by the rather annoyed looks Plisetsky had for them. Yuuri decided that it probably was for the best for him to just duck and usher past him before the boy got yet another idea about how to pick on him.

Oh sweet Mother Mary, he was scared of a not yet fully grown brat. How much lower could he sink? Then again, he mused, he could always resort to rich and influential patrons with a taste for oriental faces and bodies inhabited by a Western mind and soul to rise up here. Yes, that would probably be the lowest level to sink to.

With a deep breath, wedged between Johannes and a bass singer named Thomas, head lowered, Yuuri wandered off the stage.

"Oi, Katsuki!"

Dammit.

Slowly, very slowly, Yuuri turned around. "Yes? What's it?"

Plisetsky stood behind him and held out an envelope. "There."

What?

Yuuri looked to the envelope, then back to Plisetsky's face. "What?"

"Gah, take it already!" The envelope was pushed into Yuuri's hands and Plisetsky turned away. "And get it over with!"

Him heading out onto the stage probably meant that he would be left alone.

Well, not quite. Johannes glanced at the envelope in Yuuri's hand. "Love letter?"

Yuuri, again, looked at the envelope, then raised an eyebrow towards Johannes. "I think that quite unlikely, but thank you for your confidence in me."

"I mean, could be. The boy could have a sister or something – if he got more than one, introduce me, will you?"

"You already have both a hopefully wealthy patron and a younger sister, no need to stack up on these."

"I agree on the sister part." Johannes shrugged. "Patrons, though, you can never have too many of these."

Yuuri chuckled, tucking the envelope away. "Well, I'll see what this thing is, and then I try and find out whether Plisetsky has a sister for you. And if she's just as delightful as he is."

"Thank you." Johannes grinned. "Gotta go now. Johanna's been threatening me not to be late for lunch or she'll chew me out."

Well, yesterday she certainly had seemed chew-happy, Yuuri mused. Better Johannes didn't test his luck then.

Yuuri waved him goodbye and then turned around to find a suitable spot for him to read whatever prank note he had gotten now.

Really, as bratty as Plisetsky was, Yuuri had thought him above partaking in any way in such childish stupidities.

A suitable spot was found on the gallery above the entrance hall, behind the high balustrades that overlooked the main door. Crouching there, no one would spot him from below and up here, nobody would mind one of the singers hiding out, reading a letter. It wasn't a too uncommon sight anyway, many a chorus girl or ballet dancer had spent their off time here and usually, when Yuuri had stumbled across them, they had been smiling, or, if they shared the letter's contents with a friend, giggling.

Yuuri very much preferred to be left alone with this, in no small part because he didn't trust himself not to hiss and cuss audibly and there was no need to let anyone hear that.

The envelope was of the same quality than the last one. So probably the same prankster?

Yuuri snipped it open.

Another short note and again in that swooping writing

 _Do not presume I am anything but sincere. Your voice is truly wonderful. With your permission I will take the liberty to listen to your singing more frequently._

Didn't sound like he was actually asking, more like announcing it, and Yuuri found that he very much not cared for that, prank or not. Honestly, if it was a prank, it had to rank among the five most tasteless Yuuri had ever experienced or witnessed.

For a while he sat there, still as a statue, barely breathing. This thing warranted a reaction, although Yuuri had not the faintest idea which one. Both a harsh call out and an attempt to play along could be read as an invitation to go on and have it escalate and one thing Yuuri was _very_ sure about was that he would not take that well.

Maybe displaying slight, bemused disinterest then? That was the likeliest way to get the prankster to stop. Of course, there was the off chance that bemused disinterest would fan the prank flames even more and again, this was very much not an agreeable prospect to Yuuri.

He sighed and then looked up when there was a rustle at the end of the corridor.

But nobody was there. Or maybe there was, but since Yuuri couldn't see anyone, he was probably supposed not to act on that.

So, Yuuri turned his attention back to the note, fiddling with his legs so he could reach into the pocket of his trousers, fishing for a stub of a pencil.

The thing was short and gnawed on and in dire need of a sharpener, but it was enough for a short answer.

Yuuri turned the note around, staring at the blank paper. He still could see traces of the ink through the paper.

He flattened it over his knee and then put the first stroke on paper.

The pencil necessitated him to write in large and somewhat clumsy letters, but then again, it was a short note, not a passionate love letter over ten pages.

 _Maybe you should consider spending your free time listening to our soloists. It most certainly would be less of a waste than continuing this joke._

Yes, that would suffice. He put the note back into the envelope, carefully closing it, before heading back behind the stage.

The soloists were still practising their parts for the _Wildschütz_. Day after tomorrow, Yuuri knew, they would start rehearing ittogether, probably for a week or two before dress rehearsals would start.

Yuri Plisetsky was sitting this one out, having no part in this play. Instead he was crouching on the floor, leafing though what looked like musical scores for another play, fingers tapping a meter on his knee.

Yuuri waited for him to look up from his papers and notice him before coming closer.

Plisetsky raised an eyebrow. "Oh. You."

"Yeah, hello again." Yuuri dug out the envelope. "Really, it's getting annoying. Whoever writes these has too much time on their hands."

Plisetsky blinked at him. "What?"

"As I said, it is annoying. It wasn't even funny yesterday, so tell whoever is behind that to stop, if you wouldn't mind."

Plisetsky shook his head, but he took the envelope without a fuss and put it away. "Fine. See you tomorrow." He waved, a clear sign that Yuuri was to leave.

And so he did, wandering off, again to a small, empty room in the back of the building to practise some more in private, just to be sure.

After this, the whole day was waiting for him. Tomorrow again practise and in the evening performance, but today, he had a free afternoon.

Yuuri hadn't really hoped for the prank to be over just because he had said so. This decision wasn't his to make, after all.

So, after an afternoon of pondering, meeting up with Georgi, supper and a nights sleep that was uncharacteristically long and peaceful, he went to morning practise, greeted Johannes and was kindly informed that he was invited for lunch by his patron, along with Johannes himself and Miss Johanna.

He sang through all his parts and wasn't even surprised when Yuri Plisetsky placed himself right into his path.

Yuuri had to suppress an eye roll and turned to Johannes. "Would you wait a bit ahead? I won't take long."

Johannes glanced to Plisetsky. "Alright. But really, hurry, will you?"

"I will."

Johannes then headed off and Yuuri turned to Plisetsky. "So?"

The boy glared at him before holding out an envelope.

Yuuri sighed. "Really, whoever this is, this person has too much time at hands."

Plisetsky rolled his eyes and mumbled something that sounded like, "You don't say". Louder, he said: "Now take it and for God's sake, take care of it, do I look like a pigeon that you give me letters to deliver or what?!"

"Well, it's not like I started it," Yuuri commented.

"Ugh. Whatever. Just keep me out of this shit." Plisetsky turned around and headed back to the stage.

Yuuri looked down at the envelope and then tucked it away for later, walking out to meet up with Johannes.

Their engagement to lunch meant for Johannes to lead them to one of the houses surrounding the Neumarkt, the ones with the creamy, pale yellow paint and the high roofs.

Yuuri looked it up and down. "Your Eleonora is well-to-do," he commented while they looked out for Miss Johanna. Yuuri prayed she'd hurry; despite the summer-like quality of the last few days, today it was quite chilly and low hanging, greyish-white clouds were already announcing rain, very likely the spraying, drizzling sort that came with a generally damp air that crept into the bone and would leave a chill there for hours after one had entered a warm, dry room. Bone-deep chills were definitely something Yuuri could do without.

"Oh, she is," Johannes admitted, smiling. "And look who's coming in last." He nodded to his sister who was heading up to them in what looked like a rather brisk step. Her cheeks were aflame and as she came closer, her eyes looked rather red.

Johannes' face shifted from light amusement to worry.

Yuuri looked around. "Oh... That facade over there... it kinda looks nice," he mumbled. "You don't mind if I take a closer look for a second?"

The look Johannes gave him was almost disconcerting in its gratitude and Yuuri hurried to get across the street where he could admire the most boring pale orange stucco house front that had ever existed, all the while having Johannes in his line of sight.

He walked the last few steps to his sister, placing a hand on her shoulder, and Yuuri could hear them talking to each other, Miss Johanna accompanying her words with sharp nods and shakes of her head.

Finally he hugged her and Yuuri quickly turned away, focusing on the house front again. Yes, very pretty. The colour was applied so evenly. Really nice. Very soothing for his eyes with its lack of stucco or other ornamentation. Very nice to look at, really nice.

Johannes by now had let go of his sister and put a grim smile on his face. Yuuri took it as a cue to come back.

As he was back in front of the yellow house, Johannes said: "We'll figure something out. If necessary we'll sue."

Miss Johanna laughed, short and sharp and brittle as glass. "And from what money?"

He sighed and then repeated, "We'll figure something out." But he sounded rather defeated and mumbled, "We should get in", before pressing the bell button.

A soft, bright ringing came through the door and a few moments later they heard footsteps.

A maid in a blue-and-white striped linen dress opened the door to them and did a short curtsy. "Mr. Ebert, Miss Ebert, Mr..."

"Katsuki," Yuuri helped her out, dearly hoping that Johannes would take note of how Yuuri pronounced his own name.

The girl nodded. "The mistress awaits you in the parlour. Lunch will be served in a moment."

They shrugged off their coats and hanged them by themselves before Johannes took the lead and led them into a well-lit, richly coloured sitting room full of figurines and framed photographs. On the wall Yuuri saw a large picture, showing a slightly younger Mrs. Eleonora and a not really young gentleman sitting side by side on a park bench, surrounded by greenery.

In the middle of the room, draped in dark red and russet striped silk, Mrs. Eleonora waited for them, raising to her feet as they entered.

Johannes hurried towards her and kissed her hand.

She smiled as Miss Johanna, cheeks still red-flecked, did a small curtsy and Yuuri kissed her hand as well. "How sweet of you all to come."

"We have to thank you for your invitation," Johannes smiled, "it's always nice to know that some patrons are aware how precious a day-to-day meal can be."

"Well, you two had practise this morning, you are bound to be hungry and... Johanna, dear, where were you engaged this morning?"

Miss Johanna straightened her shoulders. "The Rottenbergs."

"Ah." Mrs. Eleonora clucked her tongue. "Well, they at least feed you a proper breakfast." She turned to Yuuri. "You take care of your nourishment as well, I hope?"

"Oh, yes, I... the boarding house I live at grants you seven meals a week."

"Good."

Of course, Yuuri's breakfast-free stomach decided that this was the perfect moment to rumble a bit.

Yuuri sighed. "Well, I had some tea this morning?"

Johannes rolled his eyes. "How can you even sing on an empty stomach this early in the morning?"

Yuuri shrugged. "Practised, well-perfected habits, I guess."

Johanna stared at him. "My dear brother, your friends are all, all of them, extremely weird."

Mrs. Eleonora chuckled. "Well, let's just hope the lunch is enough to fill you all up, considering its humble nature."

Johannes did a small, slightly mocking bow. "Lead the way."

Mrs. Eleonora led them only one door away into a small dining room, with somewhat smaller windows and definitely less clutter.

Yuuri stopped and looked at another painting showing the same couple as in the parlour, both in different clothes and now simply sitting next to and slightly glancing at each other.

"My late husband," Mrs Eleonora commented. "He never quite got the hang of photography. Always believed it would take a piece of his soul and he would prefer to meet The Lord as complete as possible."

Yuuri considered the situation and found it appropriate for a joke. "Well, if that's true, I do hope photography takes the sinful parts of our souls," he commented. "Less time in purgatory, which is always preferable in my book."

Mrs. Eleonora gave him a blank look, before nodding. "Oh, right, you're from Italy." Her smile was a bit strained and it occurred too late to Yuuri that the Catholic Mass he attended at Sunday did most definitely not host the majority of Dresden's Christian population. It also occurred to him – also too late – that some people might take slight umbrage with confessional differences.

Mrs. Eleonora found her countenance. "Well, sinful or not," she said, "we all should strive to keep ourselves as whole and complete as possible, so we may be judged appropriately. Please, have a seat."

Johannes had the role of holding Mrs. Eleonora's chair, so Yuuri did the same for Miss Johanna.

She sat down, nodding a short thank to him, and then both he and Johannes took their seats.

Lunch came, a simple, but plentiful affair of a clear vegetable soup with spring onions, carrots and potatoes, accompanied by slices of a dark, soft bread and hunks of cheese and cold meats.

As she had said, simple – Protestant, Yuuri was tempted to call it – but very satisfying, filling fare.

"Johanna, how are your students doing?" Mrs. Eleonora asked and Miss Johanna's head jerked up from her barely touched soup. "Oh. Uh, the younger Miss Ebert has progressed from Mozart to Bach and is a joy to teach. I think, though, that Mozart suits her temperament better."

"Which will delight her father, without a doubt," Johannes drawled, smiling, drawing attention on himself. "I remember when we performed the _Coffee_ _Cantata_ and he was singing the father Schlendrian. Yuuri, if you can, ask Plisetsky about it. He was Liesgen back then."

"Oh, you're on good terms with our most celebrated star tenor then?" Mrs. Eleonora asked, clearly delighted.

Yuuri's face grew warm again. "Well, I wouldn't go as far as that, but he occasionally deigns to talk to me and he manages to remain somewhat civil most of the time."

"Which essentially means that you're on good terms with him," Johannes commented.

Yuuri noticed how Miss Johanna let out a deep breath and now finally took a bite of the cold Kasseler roast.

"Who knows, maybe he's just looking for someone new to annoy. I guess he's been through the whole theatre staff by now."

Mrs. Eleonora raised an eyebrow. "Well, there is certainly not a shortage of people who'd be glad to be annoyed by him, if he wants that – and enough of them would be throwing quite substantial sums at him for the privilege."

"If I get a chance to talk to him without running danger of being chewed out, I will certainly inform him of this fact," Yuuri mumbled, focusing on the soft, chewy texture of the Kasseler.

The remainder of lunch was a somewhat silent affair, with them all focusing on the very good soup and the soft, hearty bread.

Yuuri knew that it would probably better if he left after lunch. Johannes was sending long, worried glances to his sister, who again had gotten quite pale and then a short glance to their gracious hostess.

So, whatever was troubling Miss Johanna, they probably wanted to talk to Mrs. Eleonora about it. Yuuri most definitely didn't want to eavesdrop in on that. These were private problems and probably of a delicate nature as well.

Stuff of delicate nature had occasionally happened in Milan too and if it came to Celestino's attention – which had always happened, because what good was a scandal if nobody talked about it? –, he had cursed up four circles of hell before seeing what he could do. Germans, or at least Saxonians, seemed to be a tad bit different in that regard.

Dessert was apple sauce with cinnamon, raisins and bits of almonds. Really good, yes, something like that he would really like to have at the boarding house on occasion, maybe for a holiday.

"I do hate to leave so early," he finally said.

Johannes looked up to him and again Yuuri was supremely uncomfortable with the level of gratitude he displayed there.

He swallowed, hopefully unnoticed.

Mrs. Eleonora raised an eyebrow. "You are otherwise engaged, my dear?"

"Kind of," Yuuri stammered, "I, I..."

"Oh dear, I should not have presumed! I am so sorry to have interrupted your plans!"

"No, really, it is nothing," Yuuri tried to calm her, which only caused Mrs. Eleonora to furrow her brow a bit more.

"He is always quite eager to cram as much practise into a day as possible," Johannes chuckled. "One of these days Feltsman will have to ban him from staying at the theatre outside of practise hours or performances."

Mrs. Eleonora clucked her tongue. "Eager to please then?"

"I guess so?"

There was a moment of silence hanging in the air in which Mrs. Eleonora apparently tried to stare holes into his very body, all the while smiling. "So, something's good been saved through all those years of papism," she finally conceded. "Very well. It has been a pleasure, my dear, please consider yourself my guest in the future as well."

Yuuri managed to smile. "With pleasure." He went around the table to kiss her hand and then repeated the action with Miss Johanna before leaving.

Through the closed door he heard Mrs. Eleonora commenting, "He is a bit of an odd duck, huh?", and hurried to slip into his coat and hat.

The envelope rustled against his fingers as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat, when the maid led him out where to the promised rain had finally started.

So, what was his prankster saying now?

He hurried to get out of the drizzle and to somewhere dry and warm, which was how he found his way into a small library, taking off his hat as he entered.

The scent of paper and linen and leather reached out to him, wrapping itself around his arms and his back, gently tugging him in deeper, and Yuuri hung up his coat and followed.

A dark-clad woman behind a counter looked up and gave him a short, sharp once-over before turning her attention back to the book in front of her.

Which was just fine by Yuuri and he wandered into the back of the store, behind the shelves. Above his head a lamp illuminated the small, dark corridors that firmly placed Yuuri in the Histories section. Several biographies of Alexander the Great, Caesar and other Great Men Of Old, followed by chronicles of several German ruling houses and countries. A door stopper was a detailed report of the Russian Empress Catherine the 2nd.

Yuuri made a mental note to come back at some point when he was able to spend more time to browse the shelves, take out one, leaf through it, but it back or take it with him to one of the well-lit reading areas.

As it was, he had only a few hours left before he was to show up again at the theatre and get ready for this evening's performance. Much of these few hours might very likely go to him trying to find back his balance which would be shaken by whatever the note contained. Thus, he only took a short glance through the history section before finding himself a small desk.

It was quiet and almost empty here today. No students, no bored young ladies, only two elderly women were sitting side by side, leafing through a book together, occasionally giggling like two young school girls.

Perfect.

Yuuri carefully placed the envelope in front of him.

Then proceeded to stare at it.

Then reached and pulled it closer.

And then let go of it again.

Then he pulled it closer. Sweet Mother Mary, this was stupid. Truth be told, as annoying as pranks were in general, it was kind of nice to hear that someone liked your voice. It wasn't true, of course, and this was what galled Yuuri so much, but the words themselves were honey, sweet and gentle and balm on his raw pride.

Truth be told, he didn't really want this to stop.

But he also had been tired of this joke right after the first note. After all, there was probably not one single human being in this beautiful and occasionally very enervating world who actually actively liked being made fun of.

Would he now receive a continuation of the joke or an end of it? If he was completely honest, Yuuri wanted neither and he wanted both.

Damn it. (Confession next Sunday would include a lot of "I swore and used the name of our Lord in vain". As usual. He suspected the priest was getting bored of him.)

With a sigh, he snipped the envelope open.

This note was a bit longer than the other two, he noticed, running over eight loopy lines. The scrawl, however, did not improve on this.

 _I am sorry to have offended you. Please know that I do not mean ill and am indeed honest in my proclamations._

 _Allow me to listen to you tonight at the performance and then apologize in person to you._

 _I am usually listening from the empty attic room to the left of the stage. None of the stage hands goes there any more_.

Ah. So apparently it _was_ a thing for each and every damn theatre in the world to have both ghosts as well as cursed and forbidden rooms.

Yuuri sighed. Figured.

 _I would be most grateful if you joined me after the performance there._

 _Please do not think ill of me._

 _V._

Well, right now Yuri didn't know what to think one way or another, which was just as well, probably.

He folded the paper and carefully tucked it back into its envelope. This did, indeed, sound honest. Now what was he to make of it in that case? Show up, probably, and see who had written it. Get laughed at, potentially.

Or maybe not? What if not?

Urgh, there he went again. Rubbing his temple, Yuuri pocketed the note again. His mind started to frazzle a bit; that was not good. Better he took a walk or something to calm himself down before he worked himself up into a frenzy that would leave him with a blank mind, unable to think of anything than what had taken him in.

Slowly as to not disturb the women, he got up and wandered back through the corridors to the entrance, grabbed his coat and walked out.

It was still drizzling, now accompanied by a sharp gust of wind. It was welcome, the cold cutting through his thoughts and the droplets on his hands and his face causing him to long for the warmth and security of the theatre.

Good. Good, he was getting there, very good.

Also, the weather was really disgusting.

Reaching the theatre and slipping through the side entrance into the dark, warm coils of its innards was even more of a relief than it usually was, thanks to the weather.

His head was clearer too and while the thought of the note did pop up far more often than he would have liked, being here pulled his focus back to the performance tonight.

He watched the ballet go through a choreography for tonight before leaving the backstage area in favour of an empty practise room. Procuring one this time of the day was not an easy task; several singers and orchestra members had gotten the same idea and from behind each door Yuuri could hear voices and instruments, single or pairs and groups, and subsequently he walked on.

He could have joined one of the groups, of course, but then again, that would have involved the potential of them asking what was up with him and how his day was going, and no. Not to mention the potential that his prankster – it still felt like a prank, no matter how sincere the note appeared to be – would be in the room and ask questions and receive answers that they could use as fodder for their next move.

He wandered to the end of the corridor, listening to the noises from the last door.

Talking, very low voices, too low for him to hear exactly what they were saying.

One of them, though, sounded very much like Yuri Plisetsky and his mumble came out in sharp, hacked off intervals. Then, while the other voice remained low, Plisetsky's rose until he finally hissed something like, "Ack cheer force me!" before ripping open the door, almost slamming into Yuuri.

Yuuri quickly took a step back. "Sorry... uh... you... you were practising?"

Plisetsky blinked at him, eyes wide, face uncharacteristically open. "What... oh... yeah. Yeah, I am. Very much. Very practising. Don't wanna be disturbed." He quickly pulled the door closed.

"Oh. Sorry." Yuuri nodded. So, no room for him here. He better found something to occupy himself with for the next two hours, before preparations for tonight's performance would begin.

He turned to leave.

"Oi, uh... you know, I will not deliver any more notes, we clear on that?" Plisetsky stared up to him, eyes now as harsh and hard as Yuuri knew them.

He nodded. "You said so."

"Good, so... you take care of this... thing then?" There was something in his voice that didn't quite match his glass-hard stare.

"I guess so..."

"Ah. Good, that's good." The boy nodded, quickly, then cleared his throat. "Good."

Yuuri took a deep breath. Better get some things cleared up. Before that, though, he cleared his throat. "So... just... just tell me, is this a prank or am I supposed to take it seriously?"

"What..." Plisetsky raised an eyebrow. "You're not asking this seriously, right?"

Yuuri furrowed his brow. "Actually, yes, I do."

Plisetsky's other eyebrow rose. "Oh for fucks..."

Interesting to see someone so young use such foul language, but Yuuri wanted to survive tonight badly enough to keep this thought to himself.

"Well. No. No prank, no joke. Just go and see and for God's sake, leave me alone with this shit, it's annoying!"

Yuuri snorted. "Well, _you_ brought those notes to me, so, you could have stayed out of it right from the start, right?"

Plisetsky looked at him like he wanted to claw his eyes out and Yuuri took a step back.

Then the boy sighed. "Whatever. Just go there and – yeah, whatever. See you later." With that he turned around and slipped back through the door.

"See you later, I guess," Yuuri mumbled, weakly and turned away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 04**

Johannes came in last minute, earning himself a disapproving look from Mr. Feltsman as he looked them over and grumbled "Behave, you lot, and make us proud, will you?!", before shooing them off to change into their costumes.

Yuuri looked at him from the side as the powder pot went from hand to hand for them to whiten their faces with.

Johannes was pale enough that the powder would not have made much of a difference, his mouth set in a firm, grim line. Yuuri would have liked to ask what the trouble was and if he could help, but something in Johannes' eyes dissuaded him from that idea.

They finished up. They went backstage, pushing knees and elbows with the ballet dancers and being shot some dirty looks from the dancers when a hand remained too long on a white-clad back.

Then the dancers were on stage. The music started. The curtain rose and the girls started dancing, stepping light as feathers, jumping and twirling as if attempting to fly and almost succeeding..

They used the time of the first scene to warm up and then they were out in the light, Yuuri blinked and sang and they were off-stage again even before his eyes had gotten used enough to the too-bright light to make out the audience.

Once they were back in the dark, blinking, grasping moles, Yuuri let out a sigh.

"At least that went well,"Johannes commented next to him.

By now, Yuuri could make out the schemes off his surroundings and he put on his glasses.

Yes, much better.

"So, your talk with Mrs. Awesfeld didn't go so well?"

"Depends on what you're referring to, but she's still my patron. That's something, I guess." Johannes rubbed his temples. "Thanks for before. Johanna appreciated it. She sends her regards."

"It's alright." Yuuri blinked against the darkness of the offstage, set off by the gas lights and candles and the occasional brightness from the stage.

Johannes didn't look too well.

"So, could Mrs. Awesfeld help?" Yuuri finally asked, while someone handed out cool jugs of young, foamy apple wine that came from bottles sporting labels with long, complicated words, among them "Cidre aux pommes" in large, flowing lettering. Both Yuuri and Johannes declined. "No alcohol until we're through," Yuuri laughed, while Johannes scoffed, "Keep that French piss away from me, will you?!"

He then turned back to Yuuri. "She promised to try. But..." Johannes sighed. "It's not easy. It's... damn."

Miss Johanna had to be in real trouble. Yuuri pondered that given the two instances where they had met during the last few weeks, he had not much inclination to like her. But Johannes obviously loved his sister and was worn down by her woes, so he still found himself asking, "Say, if there's anything I can do to help..."

"You're in no situation to support a wife and kid, so." Johannes rubbed his temple and smiled. "But thanks for the offer. It means a lot."

Wife and kid.

Yuuri swallowed. "Shit." The priest would so cluck his tongue next Sunday.

Johannes sighed. "Yeah. Eleonora said she'd look into taking care of the matter, but... well."

"Lutheran?" Yuuri suggested.

"Morally firm," Johannes replied.

"Forgive me for being Catholic, but to me this translates to Lutheran." Yuuri sighed. "Sorry. Don't know any well-to-do bachelors either, nor am I myself one."

"I know." Johannes sighed as well. "Eleonora said there'd might be a chance to get that guy to marry Johanna, but well. Slim chance, considering the costs of a lawyer for this sort of thing. Eleonora proposes getting Johanna married or find her an angel maker. She prefers the marriage, just for survival chances."

"I see." Yuuri sighed. "I wish I could help..."

"I know. Thanks." Johannes reached out to grab his hand and pressed it, tightly. "It... it really means a lot that you want to help, really. But you can't and you trying would help no one, in the end, so better leave it, I guess."

"Sorry."

The stage hands rolled the props and backgrounds for the twentieth scene, a dark, vault-like scene in the belly of a pyramid.

"I know." Johannes nodded.

And then it was time for them to go back out an on the stage and sing and sing and sing.

The performance went by in a whirlwind. After Sara Crispino's Queen of the Night and Thomas Bähret's Moor had been defeated, banished into the deepest, darkest night, light, and enlightenment and wisdom had triumphed, they had all come back out on stage, taken their bows and received their applause and cheers.

Then the curtain fell again and with it the last bit of tension that had run through all of them throughout the performance.

La Crispino sighed deeply and then happily embraced a redhead who had played one of the Three Ladies.

Several other soloists just plopped down onto the floor, sitting there in the usual post-performance-relief stupor before getting up and ushering themselves to their dressing rooms. It wasn't over yet. The star singers, the prima ballerina and some of the more prominent group dancers were expected to show their faces at the after-show gala, to mingle with the wealthier parts of their audience, entertain patrons and maybe find new ones. Others, like Johannes, were not implicitly expected by the directors and the management to show up, but would do so regardless, if their patrons happened to be in the audience. These parties were a good way to garner financial support and maybe portray themselves as in demand and a potential draw for future, wealthy audiences.

Yuuri always had felt supremely uncomfortable at galas, no matter how often Celestino had dragged him to these. This discomfort had meant that he never had caught the attention of some wealthy merchant or politician; but then again this had made it easier for him to leave Milan.

The chorus singers chattered and laughed while changing out of their costumes and scrubbed the powder from their faces.

"Oi, you up for dinner?!" Thomas called.

Several calls of agreement were heard, someone sighed "Nah, sorry, broke" and was met with a few offers of treating him.

"Johannes, you're busy tonight, right?" Thomas continued, nodding to the good evening suit Johannes was currently peeling himself into, nodding. "Yuuri?"

Yuuri shook his head. "No, not today."

"Hey, I still owe you for the beer last week, I can pay your dinner," Andreas called.

"No, no, really..."

Johannes came to his rescue. "He's occupied!" he called. "Got a love letter, so leave him to his fun, will you?"

Well, he had attempted a rescue, even though the rising cheers and whistles made Yuuri wish he hadn't.

"Tell us about it later, will you!"

Yuuri hurried to finish dressing and get out.

He passed several dressing rooms, some with doors leaned open and he could catch glimpses of their occupants in what he decided to refer to as "intense conversation" with visitors.

Plisetsky was just leaving his own, looking even more put out and annoyed than usual.

"Have a fun evening," Yuuri sighed and was rewarded with a nasty look that quickly mellowed into a sardonic smile. "Yeah, with any luck Yakov will be distracted for a few seconds and I get to kill some of these dust heads."

Charming as ever.

"And you be ready for practise tomorrow."

When was he ever not, Yuuri wondered, before wandering back into the belly of the backstage area, snatching a candle and a half-empty box of matches from a tool shelf, pocketing them as he went.

The note had spoken of a small room above the stage, to the left. The easiest way to go there would be through the corridor that led to the boxes of their regular patrons, but that would have also meant risking to run into someone and being either asked about his designation or at worst being dragged down to the party, both prospects Yuuri didn't fancy at all.

Behind the stage there was still the usual clean up bustle, but this also meant that the stage hands were all too busy to pay attention to a performer wandering around here, as long as he didn't get in the way.

He could climb the ladders and balance over the long, slim bridges and platforms with practised ease that tended to betray those performers who had grown up inside a theatre, waiting, pressed to the rails, when someone passed by.

Occasionally one of the stage hands grumbled something as they passed him, shooting him looks. He didn't quite belong here, this part of the theatre was not his world. He should leave.

Yuuri went on.

And finally, he had made his way to the attic, looking around. Pitch black, but well, that's what he had grabbed candle and matches for.

With a hiss, the match flared up as he struck it, filling the air with the sharp, biting smell of burning phosphor and sulphur. Carefully, he lit the candle and then blew the match out, shaking it until the last glimmer had died and only a thin plume of smoke was still rising. Holding the candle up, he went on.

Nobody to see as he reached the small corridor to the left of the stage, slipping in and then pausing.

There was the door.

Yuuri swallowed, fingering for the note. Here he was and nobody was to see and there was the door, looking both inconspicuous and threatening in the small circle of light he was spreading around himself.

He came closer. Behind the door, there was silence.

His throat felt tight, as if he was choking on what he wanted to say, and it took him several breaths before he finally could speak up. "Hello? Anyone there?"

No answer.

"So, performance is over, I'm here, where are you then?"

Again, no answer.

"Is there anyone at all?"

Again, no answer. Yuuri sighed almost silently. Figured. He had been made fun of after all.

To his own annoyance he found that he was actually disappointed. It would have been nice if his prankster had at least the decency to face him. The fact that Plisetsky was either in on this joke or had been fooled as well was disheartening. Most annoying though, Yuuri found, was the realization that he had, against reason, begun to hope the notes were sincere.

"Fine. You had your fun, I'm leaving. Have a nice evening!" With this he turned, ready to leave. Maybe he could still catch up with the others and have a reasonably pleasant evening after all.

"I am here. Please don't go!"

Yuuri paused and then turned back around, quickly enough for the candle flame to flicker. "Yes?"

The door remained closed.

"I am sorry that you think of this as a prank, " the voice said.

Male, Yuuri mused, heavy with an accent that he knew just as heavy from Mr Feltsman and as filled with the suggestion of a lilt from Yuri Plisetsky. A well-balanced, full baritone too.

"Who are you? I haven't met you before – do you work here?" He was talking to a door, Yuuri realized, and thus he added: "Would you come out?"

Silence.

"Or… maybe I come in."

Again, silence.

"Or we can stay like this, Each on their side of the door. I mean, that is fine too…"

Another heartbeat of nothing.

Then, with a soft click the door handle lowered itself and the door swung open.

"Please," the voice said, "Come in."

Yuuri did as he was told.

The little attic room was lit by two candle sticks and a lamp and in the little light he could make out the schemes of a table and and two armchairs. Even like this, the poor things looked like they would fall apart the very next moment. On the far side of the room, leaning against a small window, stood a man, tall and with what looked like rather broad shoulders and a slender waist. His face was hidden in the shadows, but even in this dim light Yuuri could see that he had very fair hair, shimmering almost silvery.

"Would you close the door?" he asked, a smile in his voice.

Yuuri did so. "Who are you?" he then asked, slowly coming closer, stopping when he reached the armchairs.

"Viktor. It's nice to finally talk to you."

"Well, it's nice to not be pranked," Yuuri replied. "Do you work at the theatre?"

"Sort of. I help out Yakov sometimes and I deal with most of Yuri when he is being a brat again." The man called Viktor chuckled. It blurred the lines of his vocals even more and Yuuri had to strain his ears, not to mention the rest of his head, to understand what he was saying.

God, he hated the German language at times.

"And," he said, speaking in very slow, clear Italian and oh, how light his tongue felt all of a sudden, "and what do you want from me?"

Viktor tilted his head. "I like you sing," he then answered, his Italian halting and as well loaded with a heavy accent, but far easier to understand for Yuuri than German. "Your singing," he corrected himself. "You sound beautiful."

Yuuri turned his eyes to the frayed, frazzled cushioning of the armchair. "You've been eavesdropping."

Viktor laughed, short and smooth and clear, the sound of pearls rolling from their chain. "Yes. I know, I should not," he then continued in slow, heavily accented Italian. "It has become a habit to listen to chorus practise." He paused. "Would you rather I stopped?"

Yuuri pondered the proposition. He had never seen this man before (or rather, heard him. It wasn't like he could see much of him right now.) and the thought of someone secretly listening to him was more than just weird.

Then again...

"So, Mr Feltsman knows about you?"

"Yes."

Well at least tat meant Yuuri wasn't hallucinating - which of course, was already proven wrong by the fact that Plisetsky had delivered Viktor's notes to him.

"And he doesn't mind."

Viktor shrugged. "If he was seriously opposed he'd find ways to make me stop."

Sounded reasonable.

"I have not asked before. I should have. I would love to listen to you sometimes, with your permission." His Italian was still loaded with that thick accent, but his speech was less stilted than at first.

Yuuri tried to peer through the darkness, hoping to catch a glimpse of the other man's face, but to no avail. Finally, he asked, "If I said no, what then?"

Viktor, again, tilted his head. "Well, that would be too bad for me, but I would bow to your wishes." He didn't sound too happy about the prospect though.

Maybe that was what made Yuuri nod. "Then, may I hear you?"

Again, Viktor tilted his head and Yuuri wondered whether there might be an element of surprise in this movement. "What?"

"You sound like you have received vocal training. And you speak very good Italian. I am sure you can sing very well."

"Well, yes, I do." No surprise in his voice, only the faintest hint of pride as he stated the obvious.

Yuuri had to both admire and envy such confidence. "Well then." Now it was up to him to cock his head. "Something simple, maybe, a folk song?"

Viktor pondered this for a bit. "Something simple? Like _Greensleeves_?"

Yuuri thought about it for a second. "Which language?"

"I would prefer English, if you don't mind. Otherwise I know only a French version and a German one. I don't like the German one and the French I only remember partially."

"English then."

Viktor, still leaning on the window, hummed a few notes up and down, before humming a long note. It turned out to be his starting point.

"Alas, my love, you do me wrong, To cast me off discourteously. For I have loved you well and long, Delighting in your company." He had a full, rich baritone, like honey running through Yuuri, spreading warmth throughout him, despite the mournful subject matter. "Greensleeves was all my joy," Viktor's voice rose and then moved like in gentle waves until falling, "And who but my lady greensleeves."

Yuuri listened to the second verse, already humming along and then fell in at the third. "Your vows you've broken, like my heart, Oh, why did you so enrapture me? Now I remain in a world apart, But my heart remains in captivity. Greensleeves was all my joy..." His voice was still smooth and flexible from the performance and he easily found a counterpoint to Viktor, moving easily along with him.

He had forgotten how long that song was. He had even forgotten that once upon a time, he had learned the whole thing, the original English and a slightly bawdier Italian translation that had never failed to make Celestino laugh and the ballet girls blush.

"Greensleeves was my heart of gold," they went for the last verse, high and high and then lower, "And who but my lady Greensleeves."

The last note hung between them and Yuuri felt himself shiver a bit. "You..." He cleared his throat. "You do have an amazing voice."

Viktor chuckled. "So do you. I quite like how we sound together."

"Yes, it..." Yuuri paused, searching for words describing what it was.

The warmth was still spreading through him, making his limbs light and his head spin. Something in his chest bubbled and threatened to flow over and his face ached with a broad smile.

Even through the darkness, Yuuri could feel Viktor looking at him with an intensity that made him blush.

"So, care to sing for me now?"

Yuuri's heartbeat sped up. "I don't know..."

"Would you like to or not?" Viktor continued, still with this smile in his voice.

Yuuri's still whirling mind came to an abrupt, screeching halt. "I don't know what."

"You are a professional singer." In front of the window, Viktor moved in what could be either impatience or disbelief. "How would you not know what to sing?"

"Well..." Yuuri shifted from one leg to another. "Well, I..." He sighed. "What should I sing?"

Again, he felt how Viktor gave him a long, pensive look before he said, "The _Va pensiero_. I like how this goes."

Painfully unrequited love and an intense longing for a long-lost home. In light of this, the evening should have felt a lot less cheerful and far more somber than it did.

Yuuri nodded. " _Va Pensiero_ , then."

"You need a starting note?"

He hummed the first few beats of the melody and then shook his head. "No, I think I'm good." Then he started. "Va, pensiero, sull'ali dorate; va, ti posa sui clivi, sui colli,"

He saw how Viktor shifted and then moved away from the window, stepping closer and for a moment, he could see hints of his face, a long nose and a prominent brow.

"ve olezzano tepide e molli, l'aure dolci del suolo nat-uagh!"

A pair of hands – long-fingered and with a firm grip – landed on his shoulders, pulling him back.

"Stand up," Viktor said, voice in Yuuri's back. "You tend to hunch forward when singing. Reduces the volume and you strangle the high notes."

"I... I know." Yuuri swallowed. "I know."

"Then why do you do it?" Viktor's hands loosened their grip and gently moved over Yuuri's shoulders.

He straightened his back. "I try not to, but..." He suppressed the urge to shrug.

"Continue, will you?"

Yuuri nodded, hummed the note and then continued with the waves of the second verse. "Del Giordano le rive saluta..." As expected, it even felt different, singing like this, the air filling up his chest more now than before and the notes leaving his throat seemingly with more substance.

It probably also helped that this time he wasn't crying.

At the end of the verse he felt his shoulders sagging forward again and then Viktor's grip tightened again and pulled him up. The high, rising "Arpa d'or dei fatidici vati" came out strong and clear and carrying a strangled cry without being strangled itself,and when he ended on "che ne infonda al patire virtù." Yuuri blinked, listening after the last notes.

That had been... different. He knew he could sing well, he was trained to do so and he knew this song so well.

Viktor's voice cut through the daze. "Much better." He smiled audibly. "You have such a lovely voice, one could almost think you want to keep it all for yourself like this."

"Oh, no, no..." Yuuri quickly shook his head. "I mean yes... no. Urgh." He sighed. "Sorry."

"It's alright." Viktor's hands left his shoulders and when Yuuri turned around, he was just stepping back from the light.

"Would you sing again? From _Rienzi_ this time, if you know it?"

"I'm not so firm with Wagner, I fear. Ce- my tutor never liked him. Called him an incompetent, overblown schmuck."

Viktor chuckled. "No wonder he sent you here, then. Yakov hated dear Richard, but that feeling was mutual. Never saw him happier than in March when he had to leave."

Yuuri raised an eyebrow. "Mr Feltsman can be happy?"

"A bit hard to believe, yes. He was positively giddy for some weeks." Viktor laughed. "So, how about the _Freude Schöner Götterfunken_?"

"The Beethoven variant or that folk song like thing?"

"We've had one folk song already, so I'd go with Beethoven," Viktor argued. "You performed Beethoven in Milan, did you?"

Yuuri nodded. "Yes, of course." This was a chorus piece, usually sung by women; Yuuri had performed it with them until his voice had deepened into the low tenor he had now and he had switched sections. The choir was let into the song by a baritone singer and it had a somewhat difficult start to sing as a solo. "I'll take it from the _Freude Schöner Götterfunken_ line then?"

"No announcement before?" Viktor sounded almost disappointed.

"Maybe if I learn how to modulate my voice from baritone to tenor and back each in a breath's time," Yuuri suggested. "Which I will gladly learn once I know it is actually possible."

Viktor nodded. "If you insist then."

Yuuri hummed the melody of the _Deine Zauber binden wieder_ line to find the starting note and then he began. "Freude, schöner Götterfunken,Tochter aus Elysium, Wir betreten feuertrunken, Himmlische, dein Heiligthum!"

Viktor listened, carefully, as he went through it, ending on "Laufet, Brüder, eure Bahn,  
Freudig, wie ein Held zum Siegen." There was more after this, but considering how Viktor was shifting his weight, Yuuri opted to not sing the "Seid umschlungen, Milionen" verse.

"What is it?" he asked

"You hunched again," he commented. "And while you brought the notes out fine – despite the hunch, which is quite a feat, I will readily admit – it is an ode to joy, not to a mild mood of _what a fine day is it_."

Yuuri nodded. "I'll pay attention to the hunching."

"And the mood?" Viktor asked again.

"Well..." Mood. True, Yuuri hadn't sounded too jubilant. "I don't know. Might have something to do with my posture."

"Probably, but that might not be all." Viktor smiled. "It's getting late though. Do you have rehearsal tomorrow morning?"

Yuuri chuckled. "When has Mr. Feltsman ever let anyone slack off who wasn't having a breakdown?"

"You should go and get some sleep then. And dinner." Viktor's voice rose about half an octave. "Oh dear, I kept you from dinner!"

"No, no, it's alright." Yuuri smiled. "I had good lunch today. Not hungry at all."

"You say so..."

"And I will eat a good breakfast tomorrow."

Apparently that calmed Viktor down. He nodded. "I'm really sorry."

"Don't be." Yuuri bit on his lip. "Can I ask you a favour?"

Viktor tilted his head and he came a small, very small step closer. "Yes? What is it?"

"Since you will listen to me anyway..." Yuuri swallowed. "I think I could greatly benefit from you tutoring me."

"Oh." There was a pause.

Yuuri's stomach tightened into a cold, hard knot. "Of course, if not, then..."

"This sounds like a nice idea. Gladly." He didn't come closer though, or reached out a hand for them to seal the deal.

Still, something in his voice convinced Yuuri that he had indeed accepted the proposal.

He let out a breath. "Thank you and... oh dear, I think we should talk about payment."

Against the window, Yuuri saw Viktor shake his head, a soft swish of fair hair in the darkness "Oh no, it's alright. For now, I'll take your progress and the enjoyment of your singing as my payment, if this is agreeable to you."

For now. What was for now and when would it change, Yuuri wanted to ask.

Instead he nodded. "Yes. It is."

"Wonderful." Again, Viktor stepped away from the window and this time, closer to him.

Again, Yuuri could get a hint of his face, this time the heart-shape of a full-lipped mouth.

He stepped close to him, his mouth upturned into a smile. "Good." Only now and still hidden in shadow, he took Yuuri's hand.

Yuuri flinched at the touch, mostly because Viktor was so utterly, unbelievingly, humanly warm. But after flinching, he found himself holding the hand, its long fingers, its warmness as firmly as he could, hopefully without being too tight in his grip.

"Great," Viktor declared. "But be warned, I'm a strict teacher."

This sounded a lot less threatening than Viktor probably had intended and Yuuri chuckled. "I should hope so. Would be pointless otherwise."

"You should go now, though. Yakov will have your head if you're too tired to sing properly tomorrow. And if he finds out that I kept you up he'll have mine as well."

"Alright then. When shall I come back?"

"I am always up here at performances, listening. Good sound, but I am out of the way and out of sight."

Why, Yuuri wanted to ask, why was he trying to stay hidden, but this was probably not appropriate for this first meeting.

"And when we have rehearsals?"

Viktor laughed softly. "Usually somewhere close to the stage. I'm free to come and go as I please, as long as I don't get in the way."

Yuuri noticed that he was still holding Viktor's hand and finally pulled gently away. "Then you'll see me tomorrow?"

"Yes. When is your next performance?"

Yuuri thought about it for a bit. "Day after tomorrow and then the day after that."

"Good, then we'll have your first lesson on one of these days."

This was a clear, albeit gentle, dismissal and Yuuri turned around heading for the door.

"Thank you for coming," Viktor said, as he opened the door.

Yuuri smiled. "Thank you for not being a prankster." With that he slipped through the door and made his way through the dark corridors and stairways and bridges downwards and then, through the bowels of the theatre to the exit.

Dresden was bustling with nightlife, loud and bright and cheerful, people passing him, laughing, talking – and it was all far away.

Yuuri was all by himself, in himself, in silence and solitude and in peace.

He got up early the next morning, sitting down for breakfast – he had promised, after all, to eat properly and it was a nice chance to catch up with Georgi, who was happily chatting about his dear Maria as they ate and then headed out.

"Why did Mr. Wagner have to leave so suddenly?" he asked, voicing out loud the first thing that came into his mind after Georgi had stopped extolling lovely Maria's many virtues, "I mean, Celestino originally wanted me to go to Hamburg or Berlin and only started looking at Dresden after Wagner left."

"Not a big fan, your mentor, eh?" They waited for a horse cart to pass before crossing the street.

"Ask him about Wagner and he'll start an aria about how much he hates overblown puffballs, is all I'm saying," Yuuri answered. "But the moment Wagner was away, he insisted on me going to Dresden. Mr Feltsman is more to his tastes, I guess."

"He sounds nice," Georgi commented. "There were some uprisings a few months ago. Dresden wasn't the only place for stuff to happen, though, and it was beaten down quickly."

"Yeah, we heard about it in Milan. Without this I would have left there earlier, but well." Yuuri shrugged. "I kind of like reaching my destination without getting into trouble."

Georgi laughed. "Who doesn't? Well, Wagner apparently thought that only because he called himself a genius and whatnot he was free to do as he liked and got himself involved in this and when the trouble had calmed down he wasn't firm enough in his trouble-making beliefs to stick it out and stay. Off he went and Yakov danced and you came here." He slapped Yuuri on the back. "Good deal, if you ask me."

Yuuri smiled. "That's good to hear. Thanks."

They headed off to different directions inside the theatre, Georgi to fetch his music folio, Yuuri to the stage where the first few of the chorus were already congregating and warming up.

"Morning!"

"Morning," someone replied and the immediately went on, "how was the performance?"

"I was only frozen up for half of it, so I guess it was alright."

This was met with good-natured laughter and from Thomas, who just came in with, "Don't believe him, he was good!"

"Love letters do bolster up one's confidence," Johannes laughed as he was coming in. "The rest of the evening was equally successful, I take it?" He gave Yuuri a quick once-over. "You don't seem frustrated."

"Yes, I had a nice evening," Yuuri confirmed, ears growing warm. Was Viktor already here, hearing this? Yuuri prayed that he was not. "How are things with your sister?" he instead asked quietly.

Johannes sighed. "Not good. Eleonora is thinking about how to help her out, but Johanna herself is pretty... she's not taking it well. That bastard had promised to marry her, otherwise she would have never..." Again he sighed. "Why does stuff live this only happen to good girls like her?"

"Good people are easier to fool, I guess," Yuuri sighed. "If you're good you think others are good too and don't suspect otherwise."

"And what would that knowledge make you?"

Yuuri shrugged. "I'm trying not to be a bad person. No idea how successful I am, though. There really no chance to get him to marry her?"

"Slim. Only if we'd make a big deal of it and even then..." Johannes rubbed his temple. "And Johanna already said she doesn't want a marriage that's created by a lawsuit."

"Smart girl." Yuuri nodded, as he noted Georgi coming up and sitting down at the piano. "And if she could place the child with someone?"

"That's one option, yes. If we don't get her married in time..." Johannes looked up. "Can we talk about something else, please? Was your evening good?"

Yuuri smiled. "Really good, yes."

"So you'll see her again?"

"Yes." It was probably for the best to not detail the actual nature of last nights meeting, Yuuri decided. "Pretty soon, even."

"Great..." Johannes nodded as if to empathize how great this indeed was. "Good for you. You can do with a bit more of a social life."

How very nice.

Yuuri sighed and nodded to some other incoming chorus singers in greeting. "Let's warm up, alright? Mr. Feltsman will be here soon."

"Tell me about her sometime." But thankfully, after this Johannes indeed concentrated on singing himself warm. It was too early in the morning for Yuuri to make up a believable sweetheart.

Mr. Feltsman came in. "Yesterday I almost fell asleep listening to you Lot! You can do better than this! First chorus! Now!" he bellowed and they ushered to get into position.

"Georgi, from _Es lebe Sarastro_ on!"

"Yessir!" Georgi started to hammer on the keys and they started singing. "Es lebe Sarastro! Sarastro soll leben! Er ist es, dem wir uns mit Freuden ergeben! Stets mög er des Lebens als Weiser sich freun! Er ist unser Abgott, dem alle sich weihn."

"Ah, so you are awake _now_!", Mr Feltsman snapped. "Good, maybe the theatre should set up a coffee fund for you before performances! Again!"

They sang again and then through the other chorus pieces of the _Magic Flute_.

Mr Feltsman was in high spirits today, throwing biting, un-mean remarks left and right, occasionally even committing to something that might actually constitute as a praise, usually in the form of "Ha, I _knew_ it, now why won't you work like that on stage?!"

After the _Magic Flute_ they went through the _Wildschütz_ , continuing in the same fashion.

It was a delight.

Yuuri sang through his parts with the usual ease he had during rehearsal and that he tended to lack during performance, and his chest was wide and open and light. Also, he noticed afterwards, he had made an effort not to hunch.

They broke up formation when the soloists showed up, being dismissed with a gruff "Now would you mind performing like that for an audience?!"

It was as close to a praise they would probably get in the next twenty to fifty years.

Having bestowed his favourable opinion on them, Mr. Feltsman turned his attention to the solo singers. "Gerhard, care to explain why Papageno was apparently fancying Tamino yesterday? Your reaction to Luise's Papagena was about as passionate as mine is to the current bread price in comparison or was it the other way around?"

Gerhard Bohrheim, the baritone who played the bird catcher, shrugged and crossed his arms defensively in front of his broad chest. "Didn't notice, sorry. Will pay attention to it." It didn't sound quite as nonchalant as he had probably intended to and the dark look he threw to last night's Papagena, Luise Obermeyer, told a different story. But that was very much not Yuuri's business and he had no intention of changing that.

"Please _d_ owork on it," Plisetsky sighed. "I do not think the critics would approve of a staging where Papageno tries to seduce Tamino away from his heroic mission of being easily swayed – no, wait, that's not much of a difference, Papageno tries to seduce him away from anything good and decent and morally upright."

"Would be fun to stage though," the Crispino argued with a pearly laughter. "And fun to write for whoever would take over that!"

"Yes, and the theatre and our collective careers would pay dearly for that bit of fun, so don't have it," Mr. Feltsman declared. "Stage is no place for fun, we've been through that. Have fun off-stage. And clean up after you had fun!"

These was a general round of snickering among the chorus as they dissolved and the soloists took over.

Plisetsky interrupted his daily display of grumpiness to arch an eyebrow at Yuuri and Yuuri smiled in reply and nodded ever so slightly.

The boy sighed, rolled his eyes and then nodded in return before turning his attention towards Mr. Feltsman.

Yuuri still doubted that he had heard the last of this whole notes-delivering-affair from the kid, but that was strangely alright with him. A lot of things were strangely alright with him today.

And if there was a soft rustle and fainting steps somewhere nearby disappearing in the dark, that was more than alright.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 05**

Rehearsal the next day practically flew by, consisting mostly of the upcoming _Wildschütz._ In only a few days, sing-throughs for the whole ensemble would begin, before they'd level it up to full-on dress rehearsals.

"Alright, we need to celebrate tonight, no excuses!" Thomas declared as they left the stage for their free hours before performance.

"Not me, sorry!" Johannes quickly called, "Got an engagement already."

"Not fair – Yuuri, you come, though, right? You missed out the day before yesterday, you have to come tonight! I still owe you, remember!"

Yuuri raised an eyebrow. Thomas was nice enough, yes, but it was in moments like these Yuuri regretted the moment of good resolutions that had made him socialise with Thomas in the first place. Socialising in this case had consisted of a short, friendly "Hello, how are you?" and going along with the other chorus singers for dinner after their performance a few times.

"You're not going to give me any choice in this, right?" he asked dryly. "Or ask whether I have other plans, right?"

"Your sweetheart, you mean?" Thomas shrugged. "Eh, if she gets clingy after one evening together you'll thank me for dragging you away from her."

"Fine." Yuuri smiled. He had said that he'd come either today or tomorrow, after all.

The other singers left while he stayed behind. Viktor had said that he listened to rehearsals, so he probably was still around. Which also meant that he probably had listened to that exchange, but still, Yuuri just wanted to make sure he knew not to wait for him today.

Behind the stage, things went silent.

On the stage, the Baron and the Count were cheerfully discussing the Baron's wedding to the baroness.

"Viktor?" Yuuri asked softly, "Are you here?"

There was a soft rustle and an almost silent fall of steps, nothing more.

"Just... I don't know whether you've heard it, but it seems I won't come up to you tonight."

No reply.

"I'll be there tomorrow, so wait for me, yes?"

The steps retreated and Yuuri was left alone, feeling slightly stupid for talking to thin air.

"Oh dear, no."

Yuuri turned around and found Plisetsky standing behind him, brow furrowed.

"Please tell me you didn't catch The Drama from him. Please tell me."

Yuuri shrugged. "No idea what you're talking about."

"He hides in the shadows dramatically. You talk to the shadows dramatically. No. Please no. No. We've got more than enough drama here without any performance going on!"

Probably, Yuri Plisetsky was one of the big providers of the drama, but Yuuri wisely did not comment on this.

He nodded. "I will keep the contagion with Drama to a minimum, if it eases your mind."

"Oh hallelujah." Plisetsky sighed. Then there was silence and then he continued, "Well, if he gets to much... like..."

Was the boy trying to offer Yuuri help here, looking at the floor, ushering his foot around, not quite knowing what to do with his hands?

It was almost endearing, so of course Plisetsky had to shift the picture by grumbling, "Also, Viktor will not regret trusting you or I'll make you regret it."

This, on the other hand, would have been a bit more threatening if Plisetsky hadn't been just seventeen and slender and slight as a girl. As things were, Plisetsky had made some valiant attempts that Yuuri could acknowledge as such, no matter how short they fell.

"Understood." He nodded. "You should go back to practise."

Plisetsky shrugged. "Not like I am singing in this mess, but alright. See you later."

With a short wave Yuuri walked out and away.

He spent his free time wandering through Dresden, spotting Johannes on his way to luncheon with a lady that was most certainly not Mrs. Eleonora (too small, too blonde, too bright in her choice of colours) but looked equally wealthy and equally willing to support The Arts and artistic performers.

It most definitely was the wisest not to disturb him.

Yuuri himself wandered through the city, looking at the displays in the shop windows, musing and then making some mental notes for what he would need to buy tomorrow – he direly needed needles and thread to mend his socks and maybe a spare pair of trousers would not hurt either. His soap was about to run out in the next two weeks or so as well and his razor needed a whetting. Lots and lots of things to spend money on, thank goodness tomorrow was Friday and Friday was the weekly payday. Maybe the theatre management hoped for them to give most of their earnings away at church on the next Sunday.

Not to mention that a butcher offered buns and slices of bread thickly buttered and filled with cuts of cold roast meats, pickled cucumbers and thinly sliced onion rings. Another thing he gladly took note of, but for today he preferred a small jug of soup a street vendor sold from what looked like a field kitchen. It was cutting short on the meat and the vegetables were of doubtful freshness, but it was filling and it tasted of more than water.

At four he went back to the theatre, where preparations for the evening show were running under steam and nobody paid attention to him as he shuffled through the corridors.

"I will listen," Viktor's voice whispered in Yuuri's back, but when he turned around, nobody was there.

Yuuri's throat was dry when he replied, "I... I do hope so."

Viktor's voice chuckled. "Glad to hear that. Would you come a little closer?"

Slowly Yuuri's came forward until Viktor said, "That's enough. Would you turn around now?"

Again, Yuuri obeyed and then waited.

The firm grip on his shoulders wasn't much of a surprise and Yuuri let out a soft breath as Viktor slowly pulled back his shoulders. "No hunching."

"No hunching," Yuuri promised, feeling warmth seeping from Viktor's fingers through his clothes. "Thank you."

"Have fun out there," Viktor whispered.

Steps came closer and with them, laughing and chatting voices.

The touch was gone in an instant and Yuuri was alone again.

He didn't even hear steps that would have spoken of Viktor leaving.

"Oi, Yuuri's already here!" Thomas waved and Yuuri took a deep breath, reminding himself to be nice. Ihelped that he discovered Johannes among those coming in. Thomas couldn't know he was interrupting something that had actually felt really good and warm and helpful and calming. And Viktor would have left soon anyway, so it really was no big deal.

He smiled. "Ah, you're late. Bet Mr. Feltsman will start looking for us soon if we don't get ready."

Johannes nodded and then took a close look at Yuuri. "You're kind of pale. Are you alright? Have you seen a ghost or something?"

"Or something," Yuuri mumbled.

"If it's our house ghost, give it my regards," Alexander grumbled, ruddy face frowning. "I want my socks back."

"Then how about not losing them?" Thomas suggested, eyes wide.

"I didn't, someone took them!"

"Your stinky socks. Sure."

"They were new!"

Yuuri and Johannes exchanged a look.

"You're the one with a sibling, so tell me, is it always like that?"

"You mean the squabbling?" Johannes shrugged. "No idea, I have no brothers. And Johanna was always pretty agreeable. You grew up alone then?"

"Yeah, Cel- Maestro Cialdini never married. Never had the time, I suppose."

The rest of their group wandered in and they headed to the changing room, dressed and powdered their faces, all the while warming up.

Then off to the backstage area they went where Mr. Feltsman awaited them, glowering and daring them to give a decent performance.

A last warm up and then then it began and they came out on stage on their cue.

Yuuri was light, so, so light, his chest was wide, blood rushed through his veins - and his voice rose and mingled with the others and he still could hear it. And why not?

Viktor had been able to hear out his voice, apparently. There was no reason for Yuuri to not hear himself.

Maybe he just had never paid attention.

But now he did and his blood rushed through him from it, singing as loud and clear as he did.

The stage lights were blinding, the orchestra deafening and still everything was close and distant.

Dazed and highly alert he went through the performance and equally dazed he heard the final round of applause and saw the curtains fall.

"That went well," Johannes commented next to him. "Mr. Feltsman was nodding a few times."

Yuuri blinked at Johannes' blurred face and then slowly started pawing for his glasses. He found them and as he put them on, both his vision and mind cleared.

"Let's just hope it wasn't him nodding off," he laughed.

"Only if he fell deaf. He'll probably bitch about Papageno suddenly being interested in Pamina tomorrow, though instead of his Papagena. If this goes on the bird catcher will have fluttered and flitted from Sarastro to Monstrato and the Queen of the Night as well and his mate still wont have had been spared even a glance," Andreas sighed. "What a tragedy."

"The Crispino will gladly write a libretto for this if you let her," Thomas laughed as they headed for the changing room.

The soloists were still chatting among each other, but Sara Crispino, arm in arm with the redheaded singer of one of the Three Ladies, looked up and waved in greeting to them, smiling.

"And if she heard that, you've just given her ideas she will now talk about until Mr. Feltsman wants to rip off his ears," Alexander sighed. "Alright, let's finish up, I'm starving! Yuuri, you're still with us tonight?"

"Yep!"

Spirits were high as usual after a performance had gone well. Tunes were hummed and picked up before being abandoned.

Johannes bid them a good night and left just as a melody was taking hold.

When they left the theatre, the drinking sonn of Kaspar from the Freischütz was in full swing.

"Eins ist eins, und drei sind drei! Drum addiert noch zweierlei zu dem Saft der Reben; Kartenspiel und Würfellust und ein Kind mit runder Brust hilft zum ew'gen Leben!"

It got them attention as they sauntered through the streets, and rightfully so. The Kaspar was a bass role and they were collectively as bass as Yuri Plisetsky was sweet and charming. Nonetheless they sung it through with as much harmony as with gusto. Under loud "Fläschchen sei mein Abc, Würfel, Karte, Katherle, Meine Bilderfibel!" they finally reached their inn and swung open the door.

Laughing they stumbled in and a barmaid looked up. Yuuri saw her eyes flit about as she recognized them and then counted heads before grabbing quite a few empty jugs.

It was a busy day and they had trouble getting to their table without running into someone, but they managed and a while later were sitting over beer and an assortment of potato dishes, as usual. Steamed with custard or cream-pickled cod, fried with bacon and eggs or baked in the oven, all in the process of being devoured by fifteen hungry men.

"You know," Andreas said between two bites, "potatoes are severely underrated."

Around the table, glances were exchanged before honing in on Andreas.

"I mean, look at them, potatoes are delicious, they're filling and they unite rich and poor, they are the most democratic vegetable we can imagine here and look how different you can serve them!" He made a large gesture, encompassing the whole table.

Alexander rolled his eyes. "Andreas, drink. Drink, please! Just drink, you're weird when you're sober!"

Yuuri dipped a piece of potato into the creamy marinade of his cod and popped it in his mouth, mainly so nobody could ask him for his opinion. Alex was right. Andreas' mind tended to wander in directions that were only bearable when he – and everyone around him – were drunk as owls. Didn't mean Andreas didn't have a point about potatoes, though.

Andreas raised his jug. "To the potato, everyone!"

And this in turn did very much not mean that Yuuri had to go along with it.

Along the table glances were first exchanged and they were pointedly directed to Andreas, all the while not a single jug was lifted.

Andreas cleared his throat. "Or not." With that, he took a deep sip.

Thomas did the same, before digging into his fried potatoes. "What's up with Johannes, anyways?" he asked between bites. "I mean, he hasn't been out with us for weeks!"

"He's being attentive to his patron," Yuuri answered.

Alexander shrugged. "What do you want? She'll support him if he pays attention to her and from what I've seen, she's pretty good looking."

"And widowed," Thomas chimed in, taking another big gulp from his beer.

Alexander rolled his eyes at his brother. "And that. And you wonder he prefers her company to us?"

"I knew it," Andreas sighed. "Women. Women are the death of every good camaraderie!" He slammed his jug on the table. "Yuuri!"

Yuuri, still preoccupied with his potatoes and cod, looked up. "Huh? Yeah?"

"You! You're not like that, right? You won't betray us!"

"What?" Yuuri blinked. "What are you talking about?"

"No abandoning your mates for a girl, you hear me?!"

Yuuri evaluated his life for a moment. No, no girl worth abandoning anything for in his past. Which had never ceased to amuse Celestino.

"Yeah, right!" Thomas chimed in. "Don't think you can ditch us now just because you got yourself a girl!"

Yuuri decided that a dramatic sigh was in order. "Aw, that's too bad. There go any chances I might have had of ever getting married."

There was a moment of silence, all eyes glued on Yuuri in something akin to horror.

He felt his mouth twitch into a smile, giving him away.

Thomas laughed. "You almost got me there."

"And here I thought you were nice and all." Alexander shook his head. "And what did we get instead?"

"Someone who talks to the house ghost to freak us out," Thomas continued.

"Yeah, caught me red-handed, I'm on intimate terms with the resident undead." Yuuri waved his hand. "Or not, he still hasn't told me how he became the house ghost." With that, he finally took the first sip of his beer. No, he would never understand the affinity the Germans had for the stuff.

"Suicide, they say. One of the soloists, a few years back," Thomas said. "Andreas was at the theatre back then, me and Alex only know some rumours."

Something in Yuuri's stomach grew cold. "Oh. Suicide." That sounded horrible. He made a cross without even thinking about it.

Andreas shrugged. "I was still new back then so I don't know much either. Was some sort of scandal. One of the soloists left Dresden in the middle of the night and the other..." He shrugged. "Apparently Mr. Wagner said something to him and that was the last straw. We came in for rehearsal and he was yelling. Next day Mr. Feltsman comes in, really calm, and informs us that Nikiforov is dead. There was no funeral, not even a service or mass, so he probably killed himself." He shrugged. "Pity. Amazing voice and he could deal with Plisetsky. Even though he was..." He paused for a second, looking for the proper word, "well, he was a bit… inverted, rumour says."

There was some mumbling along the table that sounded like agreement.

Yuuri sighed. "Why do I get the feeling that I am lucky that Wagner was gone when I showed up?"

"Because you are," Alexander declared. "He would have hated you. He hated the Crispino."

"And Mr. Feltsman. And Nikiforov and Plisetsky," Thomas added. "And basically anyone who wasn't him, but..."

"Yeah, it's quite an achievement to hate the Crispino, I mean..." Alexander shrugged. "For that matter, he also managed that she hated him. Neither of those are things I'd consider worth being proud of."

Yuuri raised an eyebrow. "The Crispino can hate someone?"

"Incredible, right?" Andreas asked, waving to the barmaid for another beer. "She was never unfriendly, of course, I mean, we're talking about the Crispino here. But it was funny how she had a certain smile for him."

"A special smile," Thomas interjected.

"Very special," Alexander added. "I was always afraid she'd rip his throat out with her bare teeth. It was creepy. Ask her about Wagner and you'll see."

Yuuri made a mental note to do so if he ever felt a death wish coming up on him.

They didn't stay much longer than it took to finish dinner and two beers each and then to pay. Rehearsal the next day would start early and Mr. Feltsman would most definitely not let them slack off.

Yuuri parted ways with Thomas and Alexander at the crossing to the Bundschuhstraße and walked the last bit in blessed silence. It was nice to spend an evening with them, talking and laughing, but there was always a point when it was enough and then it quickly became too much. That point had been close and Yuuri was relieved that he was alone before he reached it, especially considering the thankfully very short-lasting turn their conversation had taken when they had spoken of Nikiforov.

As it was now, he could go home, could go to bed and then tomorrow get up early and have a decent breakfast before yet another long day would start.

Tomorrow, there would be another performance.

And tomorrow – a thought that made him almost ridiculously happy – he would meet up with Viktor again.

The day began less than promising. The last week of May had started with sunshine and heat, but this morning seemed to have forgotten all about that. The air was chilly and damp, heavy with oncoming rain, carried by thick, dust-dirty clouds.

It was one of those mornings that made Yuuri thank God – and the Holy Virgin, just for good measure – for the invention of hot tea and he saved his mug to the very last moment before he finally, ultimately had to head out and leave, braving the day, despite the disgusting spray that started to drizzle down on him.

He ushered himself inside and to the stage. "Morning!"

Today they would start rehearsing the _Wildschütz_ in full, so Yuuri wasn't surprised to see both the Crispino and Mila Babitsch - playing the Gretchen - here.

Just as unsurprising was how awake they were. Babitsch was brimming with excitement at her first major solo role, chatting animatedly with the Crispino and Johannes Erhardt.

Yuuri himself suppressed a yawn.

The Crispino laughed. "Long night?"

"Not really." Yuuri slipped into Italian almost on instinct. The words rolled over his tongue smooth and soft like pearls. "I don't like this sort of weather, that's all. Too..."

"November?"

"Yes," he nodded after a bit of consideration, "yes, that's about it."

She sighed. "Yes, I know. It gets a bit better after a few years. I don't feel like I'm about to catch pneumonia any more. That's something."

Some more people sauntered in, greetings were exchanged and the first few of them started with their warm up, singing harmonies up and down, blowing raspberries and breathing out in sharp hisses and puffs while the ballet dancers waltzed in. Yuuri, singing a three-tone harmony up and down, discovered Georgi's ladylove among them, looking stony and slightly grumpy, like the rest of them.

Mr. Feltsman came in shortly after, took a look at them and nodded. "Good, we can start right away. Act one. You got your stuff memorized? Yes? Oh, sweet, I almost feel like I'm working with professional performers."

They positioned themselves, the chorus singers staying in the back, and as the piano started playing they performed some simple country dance steps. The ballet dancers in the front row performed the same steps with a bit more complexity and a good deal more artistic flourish, leaving it to the chorus to sing. "So munter und fröhlich wie heute, Beim Tanze, beim Weine, So möchten wir, ihr lieben Leute, Recht oft uns des Lebens freun." While they sang they parted in the middle, making room for Johannes Erhardt and Mila Babitsch who tried attempted something resembling a waltz.

Mr. Feltsman massaged his brow, but he didn't say anything, so they continued.

"Herr Baculus, er soll leben, Denn er hat dies Fest uns gegeben, Und möge sein Ehestand eben - So heiter und fröhlich sein."

The Gretchen and the Baculus happily thanked their guests for their good wishes and voiced their optimism about their marriage. Which was immediately followed by them both commenting how the loveable, somewhat elderly groom would be even more lovable if he was a bit less elderly.

The Babitch was a good cast for the role, her soprano clear and technically schooled, but still not yet fully formed, lending an innocence and naiveté to it that was befitting of a young country girl, mixed with a healthy dose of youthful coquettishness.

A gentle lover's spat developed, gleefully commented on by the chorus. "Seht doch den verliebten Streit! Hahahahahahahahahahahaha! - So munter und fröhlich wie heute, Beim Tanzen, beim Weine, So möchten wir, ihr lieben Leute, Recht oft uns des Lebens freun."

They went through the scene, right until the scene when another chorus singer, playing one of the Count's hunters, would step forward and give Baculus a truly awful letter.

Mr. Feltsman sighed. "I can live with the singing." This constituted as a praise and it made them all smile.

"However," he continued, as positively growling as the Babitch was glowing, "the dancing! You all! I talk with the head of ballet to work with you! We'll re-work the schedules to fit in this, ugh! I knew I should have gotten to the dance part of this earlier – Johannes, you're happy to be with someone so gorgeous as the Gretchen, show it! Mila, you're happy to have found a decent, decently-situated husband you actually like! You both! Show it! You appreciate each other! Why don't I see more appreciation?! Again! Start over!"

They did and then again, before Mr. Feltsman was even close to be satisfied. "You'll all practise on your dancing! I have talk with Madame Barnosk about adjusting lessons with you!" He went on for a little longer before gesturing to them to move on to the next scene.

So, apparently their singing in itself was fine and the only problem was the dancing. Which hopefully would be quickly resolved.

They went through the second scene without too much trouble, maybe because a lot of it was Gretchen and Baculus in discussion and disclosure and arguments. No dancing.

Mr. Feltsman nodded something like approval and said nothing, so the quarrel of the soon-to-be married couple was a good performance.

The second scene ended.

They sang through the whole thing with Mr. Feltsman only occasionally shooting a sardonic comment to them. In their short breaks he went around, talking in a low voice to one or the other of them.

Yuuri heard him tell Johannes, "When on stage, mind is on stage. You're better than this. Show me you are."

He left Yuuri alone for most of the time; only very late in the performance, after they had finished the "Unser Herr lebe hoch! Er ist so brav, er ist so gut, Unser Herr lebe hoch!" and the according scene he went up to him.

"No freezing up?" he asked, looking him up and down.

Yuuri swallowed. "Not so far."

"Good. Will happen again?"

"I hope not."

Mr. Feltsman nodded, seemingly content with this. "Good then. Sing on." He went on and talked to a few more singers before their little break ended and they went back to work and Mr. Feltsman back down to his seat.

"I will talk about dance to Madame Barnosk. You will hear about it tomorrow. We done for today!"

There was a general mood of relief going around.

"That went extremely well!", La Crispino chirped, clapping her hands and then hugging the Babitsch. "Your singing is wonderful, dear!"

The Babitch turned as red as her hair. "Thank you..."

"Your singing might be acceptable!" Mr. Feltsman yelled towards them, "but what are you, a woman or a sheep! You need to dance! Dance! Proper dance, you gonna need it!"

The Babitsch sighed and then let out a soft "Baaah", before she and La Crispino headed off, softly talking and laughing.

"You! Break for you until tonight!" Mr. Feltsman made a shooing gesture and they hurried off-stage.

"What're your plans for tonight?" Thomas asked, once they were off and on their way out.

"No dinner with you, I am engaged!" Yuuri quickly answered and reaped laughter for that.

Johannes slapped his back. "Then have fun. Told you you could do with some more socialising."

"Yeah, yeah, but don't you dare spending only time with your girl! Johannes?"

"Yeah, alright!"

They went the financial office, a small, dark room overseen by a cashier and bookman who handed them out their weekly payment and left the theatre for a dark, heavily clouded sky, that looked like it would erupt every moment with rain.

Alexander handed Yuuri a few coins, paying back a small debt, before they parted ways for their lunch.

Yuuri hurried to get to the butcher he had discovered yesterday and bought some cuts of cold roast duck and he quelled the slight nagging of his conscience with the thought of confession on Sunday (his priest would probably fall asleep. Or laughing from his seat). Not to mention that there was no fasting to adhere to and who knew whether Viktor had regular meat dishes, so it was for the best to take care of a decent dinner. With that thought, he went for the next baker, getting himself half a pound of fresh, dark bread, decidedly not looking at the soft, golden-crusted white loafs that took centre stage in the baskets behind the shops mistress; there had to be a limit to how much non-Sunday decadence he would allow himself to indulge in, after all.

At a market stall he managed to get some fresh, sweet cherries, probably the first this year, before heading back to the theatre. Thank goodness for today being so chilly. As much as it had bothered him in the morning, right now it was a blessing that the meat wouldn't spoil in the next few hours from the heat.

Then he actually got around to pick up a new razor and soap as well, pausing then at the show window of a book store, pondering the display for a while, but ultimately, a collection of histories (all by authors that sounded rather dry) and a few racy novels were not quite the right incentive for Yuuri to pay money for, especially not when he still had to pay for next week's board and bread and needed save up for some new clothes.

So off he went, passing his time admiring the cakes in a confectioner's show window, layered and covered in sugary glacé.

Maybe he would get one of these at some point later, when he had more money at his disposal and the occasion was right.

It was time to get back to the theatre anyways if he wanted to avoid getting himself and his purchases wet.

His timing was right on cue. When he reached the theatre square, the first droplets were drizzling down on him and a few seconds after he had stepped through the door the soft splatter hardened and increased in frequency. Looking out, Yuuri saw a silvery grey, shimmering curtain fall and hide the world from sight, cutting the theatre off and leaving him stranded here.

"There you are." Viktor's slightly amused voice didn't startle him half as much as Yuuri would have thought and he turned around.

"Hello."

"Our engagement for tonight is still standing?" Viktor asked softly, voice velvety with his accent.

Stepping a bit closer to where the voice was coming from Yuuri nodded. "Of course."

"I am not keeping you from anything?"

"Not in the least." Yuuri smiled. "Also, it would be a shame if I had bought dinner for nothing, right?"

"I suppose." There was a smile in Viktor's voice. "I am looking forward to it."

"Me too." Yuuri's ears felt slightly warmer than it was usual for him. "I hope I did well yesterday?"

"Yes. A lot better." Yuuri heard something like a single, soft handclap. "I do think tutoring you will be an utter joy."

"Let's hope I won't disappoint you."

A soft rustle of hair and fabric spoke of a headshake. "I sincerely doubt that. Would you come here?"

Yuuri stepped closer.

"Turn around please."

He did and again felt the grip of two strong, long-fingered hands on his shoulders, pulling him up, widening and opening his chest as it felt.

Viktor chuckled. "I hunched too for a long time. At some point Yakov was so fed up with me he had me wear a corset."

"I would rather not," Yuuri commented.

Viktor chuckled. "It _did_ help. And my waist looked just superb." His thumb brushed the nape of Yuuri's neck and he shivered just a little, straightening up even more.

"Alright," Viktor said, "that should do it." Then the feeling of his hands was gone, replaced by a faint sense of lacking. "Work hard and have fun tonight."

"Thank you," Yuuri whispered, "See you later."

"See you later." And with a soft rustle and even softer steps, Viktor was gone.

Some time later other chorus singers, orchestra musicians and the last few ballet dancers came running in, dripping wet, shivering and in equal parts cursing the blasted weather and laughing about their hilariously bad luck.

A few towels were procured and made the rounds, mostly among the orchestra members.

Yuuri pitied them heartily.

"Oh, food!" Thomas, half naked, standing in a puddle and still dripping, reached out and Yuuri quickly put himself in front of the small basket containing his treasures. "Food. Yes. For you. No. Hands off and get dry, please."

"Date with your girl, right?" Johannes peeked into the basket. "Pretty simple fare."

"It's not like I could afford lobster," Yuuri shrugged.

"True," Johannes sighed wistfully. "What have you planned anyways?"

"Uh…" Singing lessons were probably not a good answer. "Don't know. I mean first eating a bite, don't know if she's got her dinner worked out for tonight. Then…" He shrugged. "Uh.."

"Spending time together?" Johannes helped out.

"Yes, yes exactly!" Yuuri nodded quickly.

Again, Johannes glanced into Yuuri's basket. "No wine though?"

"No…" Oh no, he hadn't thought about a drink. Inwardly, Yuuri cursed himself for his own stupidity.

But instead of a short tirade of how inconsiderate Yuuri was for not getting his sweetheart some sweet wine Johannes gave him an almost relieved smile. "You're serious with her, eh? No getting her drunk and more agreeable and doing something stupid?"

It took Yuuri a moment until he understood what Johannes was trying to say. When he did, his stomach turned a little colder. "I know why you're worried, really, I do," he answered in a low voice, lowering it even further as he went on. "But could you please not expect me to be an awful person?"

Johannes blinked at him and then, slowly, he nodded. "Yes. I'm sorry, just..."

Yuuri nodded and then sighed. "Yeah. I know."

They changed into their costumes, some of them still shivering and fighting for a last, somewhat not dripping towel while others were wringing out their shirts and pants and spreading them over whatever chair and bank and seat they could find, in hopes of it getting somewhat dry during performance.

"Let's just pray it won't rain the whole night through," someone grumbled in a very broad, chewed accent that identified him as Bavarian. "I got better things to do than being stuck in here with you all."

"Yeah," Andreas replied, "we love you too, Gustl!"

August grumbled some more but refrained from further voicing his opinion on his Saxonian colleagues. Considering how Andreas was staring the man down, this was probably for the best. And here Yuuri had thought the animosities between Sienans and Milanese were bad.

Chatting they left for the stage, Yuuri glancing around for a sign that Viktor was nearby.

There was nothing, of course. According to him, Viktor always listened from the room above the stage to the left, but Yuuri still looked out for him.

Behind the stage, Mr. Feltsman gave them his usual, short speech and then left them to it.

The curtain rose.

The orchestra started playing. Ballet dancers rushed past them on stage, the stage lights were blindingly bright, filling Yuuri's head with white, leaving room for nothing but music.

Yuuri went through the performance in a strangely lucid, dreamlike state, acutely aware of what was happening around him and what cues were being given, yet at the same time distant, centred in himself and his singing.

The daze was beginning to pass off and Yuuri found himself talking to Andreas when his head was clear again. The other singers looked content. It had gone well enough then, good.

The ballet dancers were leaning against beams and posts, stretching and cooling down, the soloists were breathing in deeply, coming down from the high wave that came with a good performance.

The Crispino looked sufficiently exhausted after having been defeated by the forces of good and enlightenment. The Babitch seemed better off, but both Yuri Plisetsky and Elise Hermann leaned half against a post, half against Johannes Erhardt's massive shoulders.

Plisetsky finally shook himself up and made an attempt to walk away. "Oh well, then. Night!"

Mr. Feltsman himself seemed untouched by the general exhaustion, looking as sharp and stern as ever. "Yuri!"

Plisetsky stopped dead in his tracks and slowly turned around. "What?"

"You're still to meet up with tonight's patrons!"

"But I'm tired," Plisetsky complained. "I wanna go home and sleep!"

"The weather is really quite oppressive," Johannes Erhardt agreed.

"So? We went through an opera, we can manage some socialising." Mr. Feltsman shot them all a dark look. "Also, it's still raining. You'll get pneumonia if you go out now, all of you, I advise against it."

"Urgh..." Plisetsky groaned heartily, leaning against the beam, a hand on his brow. "Don't want, don't want!"

"People like seeing you!"

"Yes, and I don't like seeing people!"

Yes, Yuuri concluded, a good deal of the drama the boy had so heartily complained about was most definitely of his own making.

He stretched and headed off to the changing room, closely followed by other singers.

"Damn, still wet," Alexander grumbled, feeling his clothes.

"Well, it's not like it matters," Thomas quipped. "When we're on our way home we'll get wet again anyway." He shrugged his clammy, stiff shirt on and squirmed a bit, but bravely also wiggled himself into his trousers and his waistcoat. "Yuuri, you gotta go out too, right?"

Thankfully not," Yuuri replied. "We're meeting here."

Johannes turned around, grinning. "She's been in the audience tonight? No wonder you've been singing so well."

"Uh, yeah." Again, Yuuri's ears grew hot and he scratched his neck. "And..."

"The guy's in a hurry, now let him go!" Andreas laughed. "Have a fun evening!"

"Behave!" Alexander called.

"Will do!" He waved, grabbing his basket and then quickly left, wandering through the corridors, carefully looking around whether someone was passing by who could notice him.

Nobody.

Behind the stage, there was still the usual post-performance rustle of taking down props and background paintings.

He waited a moment, then climbed up the ladders and balanced along a pole towards the left.

"Oi, you there, whatcha doin' uper!"

He flinched and turned around. The German was spread and broad and soft, but the way it was yelled at him transformed the softness into a slingshot of mud.

"I... I'm from the chorus... just... just wanna eat my dinner in peace... I mean, with the rain..." He quickly held up the basket. "Over here, the way's shorter."

The man stared at him in puzzlement and then frowned. "Yaer nat gatting in da way, up haare, roight?"

"No, of course not!" Yuuri quickly climbed up another few stairs so the man could pass. "Good night."

"Eh. Naight."

Apparently he was free to go now and so he did, climbing the last bit until he reached the corridor. Then he paused, lighting a candle before proceeding to the door.

The small gap between wood and floor emitted a low, orange light. Viktor was here already.

Suddenly, Yuuri felt his heart racing and he became acutely aware how hot his ears still were and how the blood rushed through his body and...

Focus. Focus, focus, focus, this wasn't even a try out, if he froze up at the prospect of facing his new tutor, it might be for the best if he left the stage for good.

He knocked softly and then listened to the subtle fall of footsteps coming closer.

Then the door opened, just a hand's width and he heard Viktor's voice, "Ah, you're here!"

It made his heart race even faster.

"Come in, come in." The door opened a bit more and Yuuri slipped in. "I brought something for dinner. Don't know if you have eaten yet, but..."

"How sweet of you." The smile in Viktor's voice just made Yuuri's heart race some more.

The room was a lot brighter than last time, still hidden in a lot of shadow, but at the very least Yuuri could make out the measurements of the room – somewhat spacious – and its furbishing – rather sparse. In a corner he could see some stacks of blankets and something that looked like an old canopy, all stacked together. In another he could make out a small cembalo.

The air was heavy and warm as usual with attic rooms, but considering the lack of dusty staleness - a place taken by refreshingly cool, soft dampness - the window had to have been opened a while ago and closed only recently.

Viktor stood in the shadow, near the window, just like last time. Unlike last time, though, Yuuri could make out his sharp cheekbones and high brows. He was tempted to call his face – and his posture, for that matter – dramatic.

"Close the door, will you?" Viktor asked and Yuuri obeyed.

"So, the old badger wants to put you through dance lessons on last minute?"

Yuuri sighed. "Afraid so."

"Your singing was fine then?" Viktor asked, still with a smile in his voice.

"He didn't complain, so I guess I found mercy in his eyes."

Viktor laughed dryly. "First lesson, Yakov does not have - does not Do? - mercy."

Yuuri smiled. "To be honest, I guessed as much."

Viktor clapped his hands. "Wonderful, then we can start with your lessons properly. I say you go through the chorus pieces in the _Wildschütz._ And sing yourself warm again, just to be safe."

Yuuri raised an eyebrow; the performance hadn't ended an hour ago.

"Your voice starts to cool very fast, I noticed, and then it continues very slowly. You didn't notice?"

"I usually don't do much proper singing or practise after a performance and for the singing I _do_ it apparently never was a problem."

Viktor clucked his tongue. "We will discuss your opinion that a duet with me does not count as proper singing another time. Get warm now."

While Yuuri did so, Viktor walked to the cembalo and started playing some keys.

Yuuri listened and then sang the harmony Viktor had just played.

Viktor played another set of notes and Yuuri repeated them.

After a few repetitions of this process, Viktor started to play a proper tune.

Yuuri recognized an aria from Rossini's _Otello_ and fell in, swearing revenge upon the new husband of the woman he still loved.

Viktor nodded along either with approval or with the music as he played.

The aria ended with Yuuri's voice at the back of his mouth, on a high note - he kept it there and continued to hum a melody of long, almost mournful notes, that continued into a still mournful, yet slightly livelier back-and-forth before picking up the melody of the aria again.

Just humming it, the song did sound somewhat depressing. However, it was far funnier than it probably seemed and Yuuri found himself smiling as he dropped the tune. "I think I'm warm enough?"

"Yes, you sound alright." Viktor took a look at him. "And you don't even hunch a little. Very good. So, some of the chorus pieces then. Might be easiest to go through them in chronological order."

Yuuri nodded. "Well, they have largely the same lyrics, so at least they were easy to memorize."

"Which makes the other aspects of these songs all the more important. Let's start then, shall we?"

Yuuri nodded and listened as Viktor played the lead in to the first chorus piece. "So munter und fröhlich wie heute, Beim Tanze, beim Weine, So möchten wir, ihr lieben Leute, Recht oft uns des Lebens freun." How often in the last few weeks had he sung this damn piece? Often enough that Yuuri started to long for opening night. Opening night would not immediately stop these damn things from being sung, but there was a definite end of it in sight, at least for a few months.

Viktor interrupted him with a short smash on the keyboard.

Yuuri flinched and turned around.

"Start over, please, will you?" Viktor didn't sound annoyed per se, but Yuuri could tell that he was very much not happy.

"Not good?" he asked, "I was in tune, I think, but if you heard something else..."

"No, no, that is fine. But you are so expressive with the _Va, Pensiero_ , so why is there so little joy in this piece here?"

"Oh." Yuuri swallowed. "I... well, honestly..."

"Yes?" Viktor drawled and Yuuri had the nagging feeling of being laughed at a bit.

"I don't know... never thought about it, really." His gaze grew too heavy to hold it upright and he stared at his feet. "Sorry."

"No, don't be." Viktor still didn't sound like he was too happy with Yuuri's singing, but he most definitely wasn't laughing at him anymore, if he ever had. "Let's start over. More joyous this time. You're on a wedding shower. Probably already a bit tipsy and..."

"I don't have to pay for the food," Yuuri blurted out, before he could stop himself. His ears grew hot almost immediately. "Well, I mean..."

Viktor laughed. "That's as legitimate a reason to be happy as any other I ever heard of. It is probably the most legitimate reason that there is."

The heat in Yuuri's ears grew worse.

"Think of that. Go on."

Yuuri nodded and finished on "Und möge sein Ehestand eben - So heiter und fröhlich sein."

"Better," Viktor said.

 _Better_ did not equal _good_ and Viktor's voice was resounding with this fact. "Technically you are doing good, really. Your expression is something we can work on."

It was most definitely meant to be encouraging, but Yuuri had some trouble believing it.

"Next?" Viktor suggested.

He nodded. It was probably for the best before Viktor realized how much of a failure Yuuri really was just as he had started tutoring him. Better to move on for the moment and do better.

Viktor again played the lead in, this time the melody of Gretchen and Baculus having their little argument.

Yuuri commented on it like he tended to comment on Alexander and Thomas having a moment of sibling spitefulness. "Seht doch den verliebten Streit! Hahahahahahahahahahahaha! - So munter und fröhlich wie heute, Beim Tanzen, beim Weine, So möchten wir, ihr lieben Leute, Recht oft uns des Lebens freun. Herr Baculus, er soll leben, Denn er hat dies Fest uns gegeben, Und möge sein Ehestand eben - So heiter und fröhlich sein!"

Apparently he managed to keep the mood sufficiently cheerful as he sang through the repetition of the first verse. At the very least he didn't tell Yuuri to stop, so he continued with a solo line from one of the guests. "Man wird müd' vom vielen Springen; Lasst uns lieber etwas singen, Ein fideles Lied mit Chor."

That was pretty much the end of it and he looked expectantly over to Viktor.

Even in light that bad Yuuri could see that he had raised an eyebrow.

His stomach churned at the thought. "Is... " He swallowed. "My expression?"

"It was better than the first two," Viktor said, quickly. "You pick up on cues very quickly."

"Thank you," Yuuri mumbled, for lack of a better reply.

"You switched to baritone for the last bit?"

"Yes. The singer for that bit is one, so I figured I should sing it in baritone." He scratched his neck.

Viktor nodded. "Well, you do have a rather low tenor so I guess it figures. This switching is hard for you?"

"It takes some practise with some pieces. But I rarely do it. There is no need." By now, Yuuri had the distinct feeling of having done something rather silly. "I think… we should go on? What can you say about that singing?"

Viktor tapped his chin with a finger. "As I said, technically you are fine. You had a very thorough education. Your breathing could be better, though, you run out of air mid-line too often and don't breathe in properly afterwards. And you hunched again. This might be connected and if you don't stop it I _will_ put you into a corset."

Well, this did not sound like _Technically you are fine_ , not in Yuuri's book, but who was he to argue?

"And the expression?"

"As I said, it was better now. There is still much room for improvement. But I think you are doing good." Now there was a smile in Viktor's voice, that didn't sound mocking in the slightest. "Shall we continue?"

"With the song the Count and the Baron sing with their hunters?" Yuuri asked. "I think the bits and pieces the country folk have with Baculus are not cohesive enough to form a decent song, so..."

Viktor clapped his hands. "Good idea." He started to work the cembalo keys again.

"Seht dort den muntern Jäger, Den wilden Büchsenträger, Er zieht aus stillem Haus Ganz früh zum Wald hinaus", Yuuri started. The song was cheerful, but the interactions were formal and highly structured; it helped him on the deliverance of the first two verses of the song, but he knew he was failing at the slight bawdiness on which the song ended. "Und schwelgt in freud'ger Lust An seines Liebchens Brust! Da braucht kein Horn der Jäger, Der zahme Büchsenträger. Trara! Trara! Trara!"

He sighed, when it finally ended.

"You don't like singing such parts?" Viktor asked.

"Raunchier stuff?" Yuuri shook his head. "I don't quite know how to deliver something like that and... I tried and I ended up feeling silly for it."

"Why is that so?" Viktor continued asking. "You don't look like you're fifteen anymore, so surely, you had a lover or two so far."

"No," Yuuri replied. It came out good deal sharper than he liked it and quickly – and a bit softer – he added, "There was never an occasion. Or a reason."

"I see."

Yuuri could feel Viktor staring at him and he quickly drew his shoulders back. "And in any case, I doubt I'd be even remotely able to do raunchy if I had slept with all of Milan and Rome."

Viktor gave this a moment of consideration, then Yuuri saw him nod. "No, I don't think so. It seems very contrary to you." And then, with a smile, he added, "But see, that's what acting is for. Seems to be your problem."

"Along with the occasional freezing up on stage," Yuuri sighed. "Are you still sure you want to tutor me?"

"Of course." Viktor laughed. "Or why do you think are we here?"

Yuuri's throat tightened, but for once it didn't feel like it was a precursor to him freezing up. He swallowed.

"So, we go on?"

"Gladly."

They went through some more chorus pieces, occasionally commenting on how charming and generous and not at all despotic and all-in-all awful the Count was as a person.

"Are we sure this is set in some other place than Russia, it feels very much like Russia to me," Viktor sighed, when Yuuri was finished with the last Chorus piece; yet another adulation the country folk had for their oh-so-generous landlord, who just had re-installed their school master to his position.

"The author of the libretto was German, the composer is German, I think I am more Russian than this thing," Yuuri commented. "And at least he is supposed to be of doubtful quality and the audience is supposed to get it."

"And the country folk doesn't get it and those who do accept it and nothing ever changes." Viktor's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

Yuuri chuckled. "And here I was thinking nobody could hate this piece as passionately as Plisetsky. I stand corrected."

"To be fair, though, there are not many things dear little Yuroshka doesn't hate with a burning passion." Viktor left the cembalo and gestured to Yuuri to follow him.

In the moment of silence they could hear the rain splatter against the roof and windows and when Yuuri looked outside he could not even see one single street light. "Now, that looks delightful," he sighed.

"You brought dinner, right? We can still wait for a bit," Viktor suggested.

As if on cue, Yuuri's stomach rumbled a bit and he laughed nervously. "Yes, sounds like a good idea. Mind you, I forgot to bring something to drink, though."

"That's alright." He sat down on the canopy. "I am not fond of German beer. Even less of their wine. Remind me to prepare some tea for next time."

"That sounds nice." Picking up the basket he came over to the canopy and – after a gesture Viktor made with one of his long-fingered, slender hands – sat down.

Viktor pulled one of the candles closer so they could see the contents of the basket they were taking out.

Yuuri could see the curve of Viktor's mouth quirk up. "Do you feed all random strangers offering you singing lessons in an attic so well or am I special?"

"Depends on if you want to be," Yuuri retorted without thinking. That happened a moment later. "I mean..."

"That sounds good. I think I will take you up on that." Viktor procured a knife and offered it to Yuuri.

He took it and cut slices from the loaf, putting pieces of fowl on it and handing one of them to Viktor. "Enjoy."

"I will."

Yuuri himself took a bite. The butcher had a good choice; the meat was firm and juicy, but gave way instantly when he took a bite, filling his mouth with hints of pepper, bay and some nutmeg that went along well with the almost game-like taste of the roast.

"By the way, what was that song you were humming before?" Viktor asked. "The one after the aria. I think I've heard it before, but I can't quite put the finger on it."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

In response, Viktor started to hum the melody in question.

"Ah, this one." Yuuri chuckled. " _Duetto buffo di due gatti_."

"Comedic duet of two cats," Viktor repeated in heavily accented German, probably to make sure he had caught that right.

Yuuri nodded as memory made him giggle. "Yes, it's… it's supposed to be for two sopranos but Ce- Maestro Cialdini made pretty much everyone sing it, especially the children. It was his way to deal with singers being cross with each other. It is hard to be at odds with someone after you have exchanged some soulful meows and angry hisses."

Apparently Viktor had just been chewing on a bite for Yuuri's explanation was answered with very hectic coughing.

He flinched. "Are you alright?"

"Yes. I think. But… meows."

"Well… it is a duet between _cats_ after all," Yuuri commented.

Viktor chuckled. "I take it worked?"

"It did. We usually managed to get at least halfway through before we started laughing."

"I still don't know why it sounds so familiar. Give me some help here?"

"It's bits and pieces mainly, put together," Yuuri said. "A lot of it from _Otello_ _,_ but I think there were a few other scores used as well."

"Ah, that's why." Viktor nodded. "If you get the chance, would you get me a copy of the score?"

"I'll look around. There is a very nice little store on Palmstraße. Sells sheet music and some learning materials and some theatre guides - really good."

"I think I know which one you mean." Viktor nodded again. "Rather grumpy shop girl, right?"

Yuuri chuckled. "Always annoyed when you disturb her reading." He took another bite. "It's for two sopranos, but I think it would sound quite good with baritone as well." He hummed the first few beats and listened to Viktor repeating them. Oh yes, this sounded lovely.

And it was getting later and later…

Yuuri listened to the rush and rustle and flow outside. "Do you think it will stop anytime soon?"

Next to him Viktor shrugged, brushing against Yuuri's arm. "Not likely, I fear. Do you live far from here?"

"Better half of an hour to walk." The prospect was very much not to Yuuri's liking. He would be soaking wet and chilled through to the bone and no way Mrs. Haubener would allow him some hot water at this hour.

"No way." Viktor's voice was as firm as his hand on Yuuri's arm. "You'll catch your death. Or at the very least a bad cold and if you are just one lick like any other normal singer I've ever met, you wont get some proper rest them, allowing it to develop into a fullblown pneumonia and no way you would survive this."

Yuuri blinked. That sounded quite dramatic. "Are you suggesting I stay over, then?" he slowly asked.

"Well, I am not insisting, but if you wish to stay, I certainly won't mind." Again there was this smile in Viktor's voice that was very quickly becoming Yuuri's doom. It was so warm, like honey, like an alto singing the lowest, clearest notes and so inviting and lulling.

"Well..." He still looked out the window. "Well, I guess it is better than walking through the rain."

"Indeed," Viktor confirmed, nodding, bending over to reach for some of the blankets. "It is getting cool. Here." He quickly shook open one of them and draped it over Yuuri.

Well, it had gotten cool, yes, and Yuuri snuggled into the blanket. It got him to lean against Viktor's side a bit, but it felt good, so why not? He remained as he was. "Thank you."

"You can tell me about Milan, if you like," Viktor mumbled, as Yuuri felt a weight leaning on him. "You must miss home."

"No," he mumbled. "I do. I do miss it, I mean." His tongue was growing heavier with drowsiness, just as his eyelids. "Miss it, miss Celestino and everything and this place is still strange. Cold. It's summer and still so cold." The warmth of the blankets crept into his body, pleasantly numbing his limbs. "But... never could think of it as home..." Celestino had wanted him to think of Milan as his home. And Yuuri had tried, he really had, but how could he when he never had looked even remotely like the people around him, when his name had sounded so weird in their voice?

How?

Those thoughts were too heavy.

It was too late an hour.

And with Viktor's warmth and weight against him, along with the blankets were so good, so right, so _perfect._

"Sorry..." He yawned. "Night." And he was out in an instant.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 06

When Yuuri awoke, the room was steeped in clear, grey light, highlighting the birch wood floor and the faded green tapestries at the wall and how much bigger the room was than he had originally anticipated.

His poor eyesight blurred the room quite a bit, but he still could make out most of it. Why hadn't he realized that his voice didn't rebound as to be expected from a relatively small, square chamber that he had assumed this to be?

Then he noticed the reason for him not paying attention to such minor details.

Viktor was leaning against him, still fast asleep and close enough for Yuuri to see him clearly without his glasses on.

In the early morning, these strange, sunless yet light filled moments of dawn, Yuuri could appraise him fully for the first time, the high brow, sharp cheekbones and the long, straight nose.

As Yuuri had guessed, Viktor had very fair, blonde hair, almost silvery, hanging over the left side of his face and trailing down his neck and chest. His skin was milky pale, translucent even; Yuuri could see fine veins branching over his cheeks and into his heart-shaped, just slightly rosier tinted lips, curved into a smile of pleasant dreams.

 _Moonlight made flesh_ _,_ it shot through his mind.

His lashes laid thick and heavy on his cheeks, just as fair as both his skin and his hair covering his brow.

He leaned in closer, watching his throat flutter with pulse, chest rising and falling with breathing.

Yuuri wanted to raise a hand, run his fingers through the fine, silvery strands. Slowly, very slowly, he did.

Viktor moved and grumbled softly and Yuuri lowered his hand again, watching as Viktor's face twitched a bit, his brow furrowed and his nose crinkled.

His lashes fluttered and then Yuuri could look into his eyes, which were as translucent as the rest of his face and of a clear, sweet-water blue colour.

Viktor blinked and then, cocking his head slightly to the left, smiled. "Good morning."

Yuuri's chest widened much the same way it did when Viktor pulled his shoulders back.

Also his cheeks grew very warm. "Good morning."

"I hope you haven't slept too badly. I know, the couch is quite through…"

Yuuri quickly shook his head. "Oh no, it was fine, really." Truth was that he had quite a stiff neck and once he got up, he was sure that his back would be ready to kill him. It didn't bother him half as much as one would have guessed, though, and ultimately the prospect of his back killing him upon getting up was just the more reason to stay exactly as he was.

Viktor sighed with something like regret. "I live further downstairs, actually, with a proper bed and everything, but I didn't think you would make it safely down the flights."

"No, really. I am fine." Yuuri blinked. "Just need my glasses."

"Ah, yes." Viktor reached behind Yuuri and handed him the glasses.

"Thank you." Looking around, the room seemed to be more regularly occupied than lived in indeed. "Wherever you usually sleep, I think I will take you up on that offer." He rolled his shoulders and then, finally, sat up.

Yes, his back was out for blood. Nothing that wouldn't leave in a few hours, so Yuuri could deal with it. In fact he could deal with it extremely well. He stretched a bit as Viktor looked out the window, sighing. "I better get downstairs before the day starts here."

"Long way?" Yuuri asked.

"Longer if there are people to avoid. When it's dead in here I can go the direct route."

Yuuri was terribly tempted to ask why he had to avoid people but Viktor continued, chuckling, "And Yuroshka will throw a tantrum if I am not on spot for breakfast."

"Yurosh…" Yuuri ran the name through his head. "Plisetsky?"

"Yes, worse than a cat at feeding time." Viktor looked at Yuuri, raising his right eyebrow. "What is it?"

He must have made the weirdest face, but it was a strange thought after all. "Plisetsky has a nickname. And it's a cutesy one by the sound of it."

"It is, but I advise against calling him that to his face," Viktor said, expression grave. "There are rumours he killed a man over it."

"What…" Yuuri shook his head. "Despite the fact that I know this is a joke I can't put this beyond him." He stretched and finally and not without regret shook off the blanket. "How did you get to know him anyways?"

"Oh…" Viktor laughed. "I've known him since he was a little child." He indicated with his hand how small Plisetsky supposedly had been. That still didn't answer Yuuri's question, though.

He didn't ask any more. "Well then. Lead the way to the exit. I am not sure Mr. Feltsman will like the thought of me squatting in the theatre."

Viktor shrugged and for the first time Yuuri noticed that he wore brightly striped, loose trousers that looked like he had pilfered them from an old pirate costume. "There are as many things Yakov likes as there are things Yuroshka doesn't hate."

Those silly trousers didn't change the fact that Viktor was very well built and proportioned like a Renaissance sculpture. They also did nothing to hide the way Viktor carried himself, betraying some formal dance training.

When he smiled now, Yuuri saw his heart cheerfully running his direction and equally cheerfully he waved it goodbye.

The theatre was dead silent this early in the morning, devoid of any human presence sans theirs, but Viktor still stepped softly, carefully looking around for people.

Yuuri felt like a thief, sneaking around like that, especially considering the fact that they never met anyone. Behind the stage, Viktor headed down a hallway very quickly, another flight of stairs and then into the shadow, fumbling at a small chain around his neck. Then he heard the crunching and clicking of a door being unlocked. "Come on," Viktor whispered and Yuuri followed his voice through a small door.

It was closed and locked again the moment he stepped through it and Yuuri had only a brief moment to glimpse at bare walls, no whitewash, no tapestry. The air as well was significantly chillier than upstairs. "You live down here?"

Viktor's hand searched for Yuuri, found him and he pulled him a little closer. "A bit further down, yes. The theatre is vaulted, but nobody ever went down there, so I could stay there. It's a lot cosier than you might think, really."

Steps were coming closer and Viktor smiled. "Ah, Yuri's coming."

Yuuri sighed. "I should go then, I guess."

Viktor blinked at him. "What, why? You'd have to be back in an hour or so anyway, so why even go?" He reached out to brush Yuuri's fingers with his own.

"Plisetsky doesn't seem to quite like me." Yuuri sighed. "And I am sure he will like it even less if I disturb him first thing in the morning."

Viktor raised an eyebrow. "Why would Yuroshka not like you? Well, granted, again, there are not many things he actively likes and even less people." He tapped his finger against his nose. "But he has not spoken negatively of you."

"What?"

Again, the lock clicked and whispered and the door opened, just a slip.

"Oi!" Plisetsky's voice called, softly, "Viktor! You up already?"

Viktor turned over his right shoulder. "Good morning, Yuroshka," he chirped in German.

Plisetsky grumbled something in a very soft, full, watery language that sounded very beautiful and at the same time like the obscenity that it obviously was.

Viktor clucked his tongue. "Such foul language this early in the morning, I raised you better than this."

"Stop calling me this stupid name the- oh." It was in this moment that Plisetsky noticed Yuuri standing there.

In what little light there was Yuuri could see his face twist. Then he heard him say "Urgh. Really."

"Good morning," Yuuri mumbled.

"Hm. Morning." Plisetsky fumbled for a bit and then closed and locked the door. "Good, let's get moving."

"Gladly." Viktor took Yuuri's hand and gently pulled him into a walk. It was just as well; without Viktor leading him, Yuuri would have never known where to go or where he was supposed to be going. He tightened his grip around Viktor's fingers.

"Careful, the ground is uneven here," Viktor warned. "Bit slower, yes?"

"Yes."

Behind him, Plisetsky snorted as if annoyed with something.

"We'll be there soon," Viktor reassured. "Oh, careful, we are at some stairs – you need me to hold you?"

Yuuri felt Viktor descending a bit and slowly, with searching, shuffling feet he followed. "No, I think I'm good."

Behind him, Plisetsky snorted.

The stairs went on for a good while. How deep did these vaults go?

"We're down," Viktor finally said.

"Took us long enough," Plisetsky grumbled.

"Well, I remember _someone_ clutching my hand and being afraid of falling the first time he came down here," Viktor chided.

Plisetsky snorted again, but said nothing. "Good, we're down here, time for the dramatic reveal. Behold, Katsuki, behold the lair of infinite stupid!" There was a slight, distinct echo. The room was large, with a high ceiling.

From a gust of air Yuuri guessed that he was making a big, swooping gesture, then he heard yet another fall of steps and then there was a soft hiss and then a single, small flame, vaguely illuminating a slender hand carrying it.

It moved around and then parted, once, then twice. The new flames grew quickly, revealing their containers to be small oil lamps covered by glass that broke and increased the light.

There were a lot of these lamps. Additionally, Yuuri spotted more and more candelabras. He really did not want to think about how much this had to cost.

As Plisetsky progressed, Yuuri could make out the first pieces of furniture, all pale coloured and gilded. The brighter the room grew, the clearer could Yuuri see that a lot of the furniture – a writing desk, a table, some chairs and a few cabinets – consisted of old stage props, mainly fashioned to emulate the styles of the 17th and 18th century. They were all a bit beaten down, some paint had peeled off, but obviously they were still in a well enough condition to be used.

Yuuri spotted several paper screens separating the one big room into several smaller ones as much as possible. He still could catch a glimpse of what was probably the bed. It, for a change, didn't look like a stage prop.

It looked strangely normal, despite the weird set-up. Maybe because Yuuri could spot clear signs of constant habitation, a shirt over a floor, pens, ink and papers on the writing desk, plates and mugs and a small basket of cutlery in a half-open cabinet.

The whole scene was dominated by a rather haphazard looking, roofed fireplace, with a rack of firewood and a few coals next to it.

"Make yourself at home!" Plisetsky called over his shoulders, while heading there. He poked the dead ashes with a stick until he found a few red-hot embers. Quickly, he placed a piece of coal next to it and then stacked a few logs around it. The final touch was some old newspaper poked between it.

Plisetsky didn't fan his creation or blow on it. There was no need to. He had left enough room for the air to get to the embers as they connected to the paper and their contained heat broke free, dormant flames awoke and licked, feeding and growing.

Yuuri, still holding Viktor's hand, walked in on the place, looking around.

A shelf contained a few books. Next to the desk another shelf held folios and stack of sheet music. The papers on the desk looked like a composition in progress, several lines and beats scratched through and blotted out and replaced.

He could even see some words scribbled below them, subjected to a similar treatment.

"How do you like it?" Viktor's eyes dashed around nervously, despite both face and voice communicating nothing but utter nonchalance.

Yuuri struggled to find a proper descriptive. "It looks cozy," he then said and Viktor's face lit up.

Plisetsky made a gagging sound as he moved about to the back of the place. When he came back it was with a kettle full of water.

The kettle went over the fire.

"Now if you two stopped mooning and set the table?"

Viktor sighed deeply and then let go of Yuuri's hand. "As you wish, Yuroshka."

"Stop calling me that!" Plisetsky sounded more and more like an angry kitten the more he spoke. Yuuri almost expected him to hiss and unsheathe tiny, needle-thin claws. Those hurt like hell, though, and he hurried towards the cabinet, grabbing plates and mugs while Viktor cleared the table of some old newspapers.

"Do you live down here too?" Yuuri asked, though he seriously doubted that.

Indeed, Plisetsky shook his head. "Hell no! I just drop by to make sure that idiot eats!"

"And to complain about other singers, the ballet dancers, the musicians and the fact that Mr. Wagner isn't around any more." Viktor continued, making a face at the last point.

"Well sorry for mourning the loss of a genius. And sorry for being pissed at the lack of free speech here." Plisetsky grabbed a tin box from a cabinet and closed the door with a lot more force than was strictly necessary.

Yuuri got the distinct feeling of witnessing an argument that, with some interruptions, already had gone on for a while.

Viktor sighed and declared then, very slow, very clear and very deliberate, "Eddoslysh comram rano utrom, stoya portili moye harasheyn nastroyene bespolesh diskussiy."

Plisetsky turned red as a lobster. "It wouldn't be if you'd actually…"

"Yes?" Viktor smiled.

Plisetsky stared at him and he had something to say, Yuuri could see it, but he didn't. Instead, he hissed something, that – again – sounded as obscene as beautiful.

The kettle whistled and Plisetsky headed to the fireplace, working to get them some tea – or at least a herbal infusion in lieu of the former. Smelled like peppermint.

"Breakfast now," Viktor said. "Yakov will kill me if you get to work on an empty stomach."

"Uh, just tea is fine by me", Yuuri mumbled.

"Oh no." Viktor shook his head, then grabbed Yuuri by the shoulders and placed him firmly on a chair, then proceeded to hold him down, even though Yuuri didn't even try to get up. "There is no way I let you go hungry."

"But I am sure Yuri brought only food for two persons?" It felt strange speaking out Plisetsky's first name.

"Yuuri, please." Viktor sat down to his left, one hand still on his shoulder. "You do need to eat. Hunger at best makes you sing with more desperation, but that doesn't always translate to good singing."

"Tell me about it," Yuuri sighed. "But really, I doubt you had considered a third person staying over for breakfast."

Plisetsky shrugged. "Eat my share. I lost my appetite."

Viktor beamed. "See?" Then, he immediately turned back to Plisetsky. "No need for such drastic measures, though. I'll happily share my portion."

Plisetsky sighed a very deep "Ugh" and then proceeded to unpack bread, some butter and cheese. "Yakov said there'll be porridge tomorrow."

"Joy," Viktor sighed. "We say grace?"

"Eh." Plisetsky shrugged and did a cross. Viktor followed suit and Yuuri automatically fell in.

"Otche nash suschnj na nebesah!" Plisetsky began and Viktor fell in, "da svyatitsya imya Tvoe ;da priidet Carstvie Tvoe."

It took Yuuri a moment before he recognized that, whatever their language, they were speaking, it was the Paternoster and he joined them in Latin. "fiat voluntas tua sicut in caelo et in terra,", he fell in, careful to not mess up their pauses at the end of each line.

They finished the prayer with a mesh up of „Quia tuum est regnum, et potestas, et gloria in saecula" and „Ibo Tvoe est' Carstvya i sila i slava vo veki" and finished together on „Amen".

„Finally!" Plisetsky sighed and grabbed a knife and cut off a thick slice of brown, heavy bread.

"Didn't you say you lost your appetite?" Viktor asked dryly.

"Nothing like having to say grace with food in front of you to help with that." Plisetsky handed the bread to Yuuri and then grabbed the cheese.

Yuuri cut himself a thinner slice of each before handing bread and cheese to Viktor and getting himself some tea.

"So, how are preparations for the next thing going on?" Viktor finally asked. "What was it again? After the _Wildschütz_ it was Marschner's _Vampyr_ , right?"

Plisetsky swallowed a big bite of bread. "Yeah, the preparations for the actual work are done."

Marschner's Vampyr? Yuuri mulled over this, then he remembered that there had been another tryout quite close to the one for the _Wildschütz._ He had only noticed it in passing, decided not to partake and then completely forgotten about it.

"And then?" Viktor asked.

" _Undine_ ," Plisetsky answered. "That's coming along pretty well too, a good deal of the cast is set already."

"Oh, which one?" Viktor perked up. "Hoffmann or Lortzing?"

"Hoffmann, thank goodness." Plisetsky sighed in relief. "The _Wildschütz_ is already annoying enough and I am not even playing in this. Hoffmann is at least fun." With that he took a bite.

Viktor arched an eyebrow. "You already know you have a part in this? _Undine_ is pretty slim in the tenor department."

"Yes and the Duke is only a small role, I know." Plisetsky shrugged. "If Yakov gives it to me, good. If he wants someone else to sing it, also good." He shot a sidelong glance to Yuuri. "The female roles are all cast. Kühleborn and the Fisherman too, more or less. Yakov hast three candidates for two roles, he wants to work it out til tomorrow. It's really only Huldbrant and Heilmann that need to be cast." He, again, glanced sideways to Yuuri.

"I remember. Huldbrandt was fun to sing." Viktor smiled in a slightly melancholic way. "You were one of the water sprites back then, right?"

"My first chorus role, yes." There was an equally nostalgic smile on Plisetsky's face that on any other person would have looked charming. On him it looked slightly wrong.

Viktor obviously had been a soloist at the theatre, though. What had happened then, that he had ended up here?

"But your taste still sucks. Huldbrandt is the stupidest piece of..."

"Language," Viktor said, brushing a few of his long strands back over his right shoulder.

"Huldbrandt is stupid as a basket, is what I say," Plisetsky grumbled.

"I know, that's exactly why he's so fun to play. Dumb characters are fun. Also, Huldbrandt is not only dumb, he never thinks about his actions even once. He does as he likes, no regards whatsoever. I find that very enjoyable to play. And rather relatable."

"I bet." Plisetsky sighed. "Anyways, Marieke Stock and Bertha Hesse are playing the Duchess and the Fisherman's Wife."

"Well, if you're the duke you can play the angle that Berthulda is your foster sister. Having her be your adoptive daughter would be pushing the boundaries of deniability a bit too much," Viktor chuckled.

Plisetsky shrugged, but Yuuri could see his mouth twitch. "Sara's to play Undine."

"The costume department will be delighted to turn her into a pale, translucent nymph, I am sure," Viktor commented. "Who's Berthalda?"

"Mila Babitch. You remember her? She's the Gretchen in the _Wildschütz_. And Janthe in the _Vampyr_."

"Cheeky redhead?"

"That's the one." Plisetsky sighed. "No idea what Yakov was thinking – these two won't get any singing done." As both Viktor and Yuuri raised an eyebrow, he elaborated, "Too busy making eyes at each other."

Oh. Yuuri let that thought run through his head. The Crispino was always friendly to her male co-singers , but not overly familiar with anyone and as far as he'd heard she kept her male patrons in check as well.

And the Babitch he had only ever seen in her company. And with her, the Crispino was quite close. Yes, it figured.

"Aw, you're jealous that you don't have anyone to make eyes at?" Viktor laughed. "Don't worry, you're young, you'll find someone soon enough."

"Blergh, no thank you." Plisetsky made a face and Yuuri's world fell back into place. To be true, though, the world didn't fall as much as it had a few weeks earlier, when the boy had sought him out on the riverbanks to deliver the first note.

Maybe he could get used to seeing Plisetsky in other contexts than his scowling theatre face.

Viktor laughed. "Yakov will keep them in check, don't worry."

"Barely." Plisetsky dug through his pocket. "Katsuki, I think you should go up. Chorus rehearsals begin in less than an hour."

Yuuri nodded. "Thank you." He got up.

Viktor did as well. "I will bring you. The way is tricky if you don't know it very well."

"No point staying then," Plisetsky sighed. "You gonna stay upstairs, Viktor, right?"

"Yes." Viktor nodded. "After rehearsal, I would actually like to discuss something with you."

"Got it. Yakov too?"

Viktor shook his head. "Not yet, I'm still working on it, but there are some parts I would like to hear sung out. Something's still not right with it."

They finished their tea and while Yuuri gathered the dishes ("Just leave them, I will clean them up later," Viktor said, which left Yuuri wondering how he would do that), Plisetsky wandered around, blowing out candles and lamps. At the end, the only light left was a lamp in Viktor's hand, guiding Yuuri's and Plisetsky's steps towards him.

Only illuminated by one single light source his cheekbones seemed even sharper, contrasting and complementing his high brow and long nose.

He was half turned to them, looking at them expectantly.

Plisetsky snorted. "Cut the drama, will you?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Yuuri saw the hint of a hand being offered to him and took it.

The way back went on a bit faster, still with Viktor mumbling a warning whenever the ground beneath their feet was about to change.

Upstairs Plisetsky unlocked the door. "I'll go ahead. See you later." With that, he slipped through the door and closed it behind himself.

Yuuri shook his head. "Has he always been like this or is this him growing up?"

"A bit of both, actually." Viktor chuckled. "He was a sweet child when he wanted to. When he didn't, he was more angry than a brat, honestly."

He smiled and held Viktor's hand a bit tighter.

"I think for your lessons we best meet three times a week?" Viktor suggested, switching back to Italian.

Yuuri nodded quickly. "Yes, that sounds good. Unless it's interfering with your own business..."

"Not at all." There was this smile in Viktor's voice again that so far hadn't failed to make Yuuri's heart pause for a moment. "I would say Monday, Wednesday and Friday in general. The times would depend on whether you have a performance on that evening." His thumb and index finger from opposing sides slowly wandered over the back of Yuuri's hand.

That was reasonable. It definitely left enough days in Yuuri's week to prevent Andreas and Thomas from complaining that he didn't spend enough time with his friends. Hopefully. With Thomas it sometimes was hard to tell.

"Then till next Monday?"

Viktor's voice was smiling. "I'm looking forward to it."

Yuuri felt a few strands of his hair tickle his cheek as Viktor leaned his temple against his. "Yuri is right, though. You should go up. Yakov might kill me if I cause his singers to show up hungry, but if you show up late it's your head on the platter. I would deeply regret that." He opened the door. "See you on Monday then. I'll listen to rehearsal."

Yuuri stepped out and into the faint light of the basement, blinking as the door was closed and locked.

Better he got going.

"Katsuki, here!" Oh, Plisetsky was still here?

Yuuri followed his voice towards a stack of rope.

"Get the route into your head, I got better things to do than to play your guide."

Yuuri nodded. "I will. Thank you."

Plisetsky shrugged. "Whatever." He waved Yuuri to followed him.

They climbed up the dangerously steep stairway in silence and only when they reached the door that led into the theatre proper Plisetsky finally took a breath to talk.

"Well, he's…" He paused. "I mean…"

"A bit odd?" Yuuri offered.

"I was going to say _utter moron_ , but that works, too." Plisetsky sighed. "He was always like that. Maybe worse. One time he got into an argument with Mr. Wagner and punched him in the face."

Considering what Yuuri had heard about Wagner, this only endeared Viktor even more to him, but he was wise enough to not voice his opinion.

"Must have been some argument," he simply answered.

Plisetsky shrugged. "Something stupid, I bet. Maybe Mr. Wagner didn't want him for a role or whatever. But... just…"

Yuuri watched with slight amusement as Plisetsky's pale neck slowly took on the colour of a freshly boiled lobster.

"Well, again." Plisetsky paused, sighed and then continued: "I've known him for a while. He can be quite much. Tell me when he is. I'll deal with him."

He was serious, he was actually serious in this offer. Yuuri was oddly touched. "Alright. Thank you."

"And again, if you make trouble..." He turned around, staring at him. "I will know how to make trouble for you, you hear me?!"

He was serious in this as well, Yuuri realized, and he nodded again. "Understood."

"Good." Plisetsky was still glaring daggers at him, but now at least a few of these daggers were sheathed. "So. After we're through with the _Wildschütz_ and the _Vampyr_ is underway, there'll be the _Undine_."

"So I've heard."

"So?" Plisetsky came to a sudden stop; Yuuri almost crashed into his back.

"What, so?"

"As I said, two roles are still open. Both baritone. Maybe a bit low for you though." Plisetsky shot him a long glance. "You didn't try out for the _Vampyr_."

Yuuri smiled wryly. "You remember last time I tried out for a role? That freezing up thing?"

"Yes. Won't happen again, right?"

"I wasn't so sure when the _Vampyr_ tryout rolled around. Didn't want to push my luck. And then I more or less forgot about it once it was clear I would not try out for this."

"You were afraid," Plisetsky said, flatly.

And he sounded betrayed. Why did he sound like a little child Yuuri had taken away his favourite toy from?

"Again, that whole freezing up thing."

"But that's stupid!" The boy whirled around. "It's not like you can't... I mean..." Now his face grew as red as his neck before.

Yuuri blinked.

"Argh!" Again, the boy turned his back to him. "Well, whatever your thing is, you got a tutor now. Work with him and make use of that and get your ass into the next tryout!"

Was he supposed to agree to or to protest this demand? Yuuri honestly had no idea and so he stood there, staring at Plisetsky's ever warmer growing neck.

"So?!" the boy finally pressed through what sounded like very clenched teeth.

"Why do you insist I try out?" Yuuri asked.

Plisetsky shrugged. "No reason, really." Then, after a moment's silence, he mumbled, "Don't like it when people stop halfway."

Yuuri pondered this for a moment. Then he sighed. "Well, I'll think about it when Mr. Feltsman informs us about it. Might be he finds his baritones in the meantime."

Plisetsky shrugged. "Maybe for Huldtbrandt. Heilmann is a small role. He loves giving these to chorus singers."

Yuuri didn't even notice that he was nodding.

"He'll announce it at the day of the opening night for the _Wildschütz_ , so be prepared then. I can give you the sheet music for it."

"You're awfully helpful," Yuuri commented.

Plisetsky shrugged. "I apparently have to. Go. The other chorus singers will show up in a bit."

"Well, thank you anyways." Yuuri walked past him.

He realized only that he had more or less accepted the offer when he was already halfway to the backstage area, already doing breath exercises.

Well damnit. But then again, maybe Plisetsky was right. He had a tutor and a good one too, by all impressions. He would be stupid not to prepare himself for a tryout. It would be downright ungrateful after Viktor had agreed to tutor him, if he wouldn't make use of his gained skills.

He was the first of the chorus to arrive, breathing out in sharp puffs and hisses.

When he began to sing his first harmonies, he noticed a movement.

Mr. Feltsman was here already. Of course.

Yuuri came to a halt for a moment, forcing himself to nod a greeting to him. Was he too early? Was he so early that Mr. Feltsman had to come to the conclusion that he had stayed here for the night?

The old man stared at him, squinted a bit and then nodded at him to go on. So Yuuri did. Harmonies rose and fell and then he connected the notes to a single tone, lifting his voice up and letting it plummet into an abyss before it soared again.

He repeated the process three times before he started to sing the first thing that came to mind. Usually, this was the _Va, Pensiero_. For some reason though, today it was _Greensleeves_.

Yuuri had no clue whatsoever why that was, but it was good, a simple, sweet melody, a good starter. "Alas my love you do me wrong, To cast me off discourteously; And I have loved you oh so long, Delighting in your company." Granted, the mood was not exactly more cheerful than with _Va, Pensiero_.

Shoulders back, Yuuri reminded himself, as he sang the refrain. "Greensleeves was my delight, Greensleeves my heart of gold, Greensleeves was my heart of joy, And who but my lady Greensleeves."

Yes. Yes, that sounded well. Yuuri stopped, humming the last note.

"Katsuki."

Yuuri flinched and slowly turned around to look Mr. Feltsman in the eye. "Yes?"

"You danced in Milan, I trust?"

"A bit." Truth was, no. Yuuri had liked to dance, but for once, focusing on both his steps and his voice had led to him messing up both at once. Second, while he could somewhat hide in the tapestry of voices a chorus song weaved, the same was never and would never be true for dancing.

"Not much," he thus added.

"Eh." Mr. Feltsman sighed. "Last row for the dance then, I guess."

Yuuri's stomach churned. "I'm sorry, I... I do my best."

"No. You sing. You're singer," Mr. Feltsman growled, accent thicker than usual. "Either sing or dance. Or be genius and do both, but only then." He grumbled some more and Yuuri thought he could hear him continuing to complain about the silly practise of having ballet dancers sing and chorus singers dance that was so regular in most opera houses.

"Warm up. Stretch."

He soon was joined by the rest of the chorus and Mr. Feltsman repeated to them his orders to stretch and warm up their arms and legs rather than their voices.

"Morning," Johannes whispered between instances of putting his weight from one leg to another. "Eleonora invites you to lunch tomorrow. Also, Georgi said you were not at your boarding house this morning, where were you?!"

"Rain. Couldn't get out with that downpour," Yuuri hissed back.

"Where did you stay then?"

Yuuri was spared the need to answer immediately. Mr. Feltsman had noticed them and bellowed "Less gossip! Work!"

They did as they were told until he turned his attention away from them.

"We didn't get too far from here anyways."

"She lives around here?"

Yuuri shrugged. It wasn't a lie. Less for him to confess tomorrow.

Johannes furrowed his brow as if thinking about this thoroughly. Apparently he came to a conclusion quite quickly, for he nodded. "Alright. You had a nice evening though?"

"Oh yes. Really nice."

Johannes again looked at him very thoroughly, then he smiled. "Good for you."

"You two!"

They both flinched and somewhat guiltily finished with their stretching while Mr. Feltsman talked to a very tall, stern looking woman who looked at them with barely veiled disdain on her thin, in a harsh fashion rather attractive face.

"Dance lesson today! Then singing," Mr. Feltsman growled. "Pathetic. Madam, they are all yours."

Lilia Barnosk, chief ballet mistress of the theatre, was definitely not impressed by them. "Any of you lot are dancers?!" Her voice was equally harsh as Mr. Feltsman's, with the difference that she spoke like a snapping whip where Mr. Feltsman's voice tended to throw rocks at you.

Some of the seniors in the chorus raised their hands, all of them showing signs of several degrees of righteous fear. Yuuri discovered Andreas among them and – yes, the man was awfully pale.

"I trust you all know how to do a Contredanse?!" Madam Barnosk snapped.

They nodded, terrified.

"Do it then. Music! The start!"

Georgi flinched and hurried to smash the piano keys.

The singers placed themselves in pairs and started dancing in half-circles around each other.

The lines and patterns in which they moved were simple enough, cross-paths and side-switching. Not much touching, though.

"That will do!" Madam Barnosk decided and the music died. "You'll be paired of with some of my girls later when you deserve them! Now learn the steps! Pair off!"

Johannes turned to Yuuri and made a mocking bow. "Dear Miss, may I?"

Yuuri chuckled and did a curtsy. "My, my, why not."

Around them, similar jokes were thrown around.

The Barnosk clapped her hands. "You all! Dance! You are here to dance! Gossip later!"

They all quickly positioned themselves and then started to dance, wandering the paths around each other, just as they had seen before.

"Stop!" The Barnosk snapped, Stop, you left footed toads! Am I on a wedding shower or a funeral?!"

There was a general shuffle.

"Wedding shower! Dance like it! Be more merry!"

And so they went on, repeating that damn dance more often than Mr. Feltsman had them repeat songs he was not satisfied with.

When Madam Barnosk called "Enough for today! My girls are waiting! Yakov, you deal with them now! I have to work with actual dancers now before I gouge my eyes out from all this clumsiness!" She turned around. "On Monday I expect better! You all have a lot to work on!"

And with that, she rushed off.

Mr. Feltsman sighed, obviously questioning a few of his recent life choices.

Then, wearily, he grumbled, "Ten minutes, then sing yourselves warm! _Wildschütz_ today and first bits of the _Vampyr_!"

Yuuri breathed a sigh of relief. His shirt felt slightly sticky on his back and his face was hot.

"Urgh. Next Monday again?" Johannes sighed while the sheet music for the _Vampyr_ went around. "Guess I'll bring under shirts with me to dance in then."

"The ballet girls will surely appreciate it," Yuuri chuckled. "She's as bad as Feltsman."

"Maybe that's a job requirement for leading directors here," Johannes grumbled. "Be extremely demanding and scare the shit out of your performers."

"To be fair, though, Mr. Feltsman is less scary."

"Yes, because for all his bulk and muscle, it's the Barnosk who could break your neck with her ankle." Johannes shuddered. Then he looked back at Yuuri and again, he smiled. "You know, being in love is a good look on you."

Yuuri pondered this for a moment, but his thoughts were cut short when Mr. Feltsman bellowed, "Sing yourselves warm now! We don't have all day!"

Right now singing was all that mattered.

Saturday currently held no musical performances and on Sunday the theatre was closed; after a full sing-through of the _Wildschütz_ (with somewhat improved dancing and Mila Babitch bitterly complaining about what a devil the Barnosk was), the late afternoon and early evening belonged all to them.

That gave Yuuri the chance to ponder on Johannes' comment some more and he came to his conclusion after a rather short period of doing so.

A similar process had gone on in Milan a few years back. Yuuri's peers had started making eyes at the ballet girls, the more daring of them sneaking a peek into their dressing rooms.

Yuuri hadn't. Instead he had developed a soft spot for one of these boys. It had went nowhere. Yuuri had kept his feelings secret and eventually they had faded, just like the brief period of awkward scratchy voice shifts mid-singing had faded. Looking back, Yuuri couldn't even say why he had liked that boy so much.

Even then he hadn't thought about it that much. He didn't like women. He liked men, more or less, he liked one specific man. That never had been much to mull about. Singing was more important. Besides, he had enough things going on in his life that drove him crazy with worry, damn him if he added _The Undeniable Fact That Women Are Nice But Not For Him While Some Men Are Equally Undeniably Very, Very, Very Attractive_ to the list. Even he needed a break, sometimes.

Having come to that conclusion he went to bed on Saturday, had a good nights sleep and went to Sunday Mass with a clear conscience. After Mass, he confessed having used the Lord's name in vain, having been impatient and having been dismissive of the opinion of a friend.

"Well,", the priest said, barely concealing his boredom, "well, my son, that entirely depends on the opinion your friend held at that moment."

"He considered potatoes underrated and started to call them the most democratic of all vegetables. While I do like potatoes, I think he went a bit too far in that statement."

"Indeed." With another, bored sigh the priest declared Yuuri's penance (which Yuuri suspected he only gave him because Yuuri would have gone on to pray some anyways). "Pray two Paternoster. Then go and sin no more."

Well, good luck with that. Humankind being somewhat prone to commit minor and major sins was what kept this man and his peers clothed and fed after all. Briefly Yuuri wondered whether Protestants might had a point after all, but it lasted only until he had started praying down the first Paternoster and the combined effects of the choral singing, the burning incense and the easy, simple monotony of the prayer put most of his fears that were gnawing in the back of his mind, at rest, at least for the moment. If the Protestants had indeed a point, Yuuri was glad to let them keep it.

"Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo. Amen. Pater noster, qui es in caelis: sanctificetur nomen tuum..."

He finished the second Paternoster and then added a third one, just for good measure. Who knew when he might need penance done in advance this week.

So, that was done. When he left the church, the air was light with the ringing of bells, both Catholic and Protestant. The streets were filled with people, all dressed in their Sunday best, chatting amiably with each other, parents with their children, some servants rushing away from church back to work while their masters took a leisure stroll along the Elbe.

At the Elbe was where Yuuri met Johannes accompanied by his two ladies.

Mrs. Eleonora looked as refined and pleasant as ever and he kissed her hand in greeting. "Thank you so much for your invitation."

Mrs. Eleonora smiled. "It was such a pleasure last time and it has been too long."

Miss Johanna looked slightly peaked when Yuuri kissed her hand, despite her face being slightly fuller than last time he had seen her. Pregnancy apparently was taking its toll on her.

"I hope you are faring well, Miss?"

She nodded, curtly. "As well as can be."

Not so well then.

Mrs. Eleonora smiled. "Well, well, I do say we should enjoy the fair weather and take our time before we head home."

Yuuri offered an arm to Miss Johanna, which was promptly taken.

It _was_ a fair day, not a single cloud in the sky, the air warm and sweet with flowers and greenery. At the riverbanks not even the masses of people sharing into Mrs. Eleonora's idea could drown out the murmur of the Elbe carrying herself down and down and away into the far-off sea.

"So," Miss Johanna finally said, after the silence between them grew too heavy for an unmarried, pregnant girl of not yet twenty to bear, "Johannes mentioned you found a girlfriend?"

"What?" Yuuri blinked at her and then decided to glare daggers at the back of the poor, unassuming traitor that Johannes was.

"Well, I guess you do look exotic enough," she continued. "There are people going for this sort of thing."

Thank you for the reminder, Yuuri thought, biting his tongue.

"But I do seriously hope you do not plan on getting her into trouble."

Yuuri glanced at her sideways and then his gaze almost involuntarily dropped to her belly, that was still very flat, be it by the natural state of pregnancy or by the force of the corset.

If Miss Johanna noticed, she didn't show it, simply continuing, "People like you are not liked in some quarters here."

"I never paid attention to that." And there went the additional Paternoster. Yuuri had started to stop paying attention at the age of eight. At the age of ten he had brought it down to an art and at 15 and after one or two instances of frenzy about it he had started to actively block out how people looked at him. In his first few weeks in Dresden it had surfaced again for a bit, due to the need for him to pay intense attention to what was going on and spoken around him. Since then, though, he again had blocked anything out when other people looked at him for too long or when the baker still spoke extra slow, no matter how well Yuuri understood and answered her. Blocking out was a lot easier than outright dealing with it, most of the time.

"Then you must be rather dense," Miss Johanna remarked.

How could someone so considerate and kind as Johannes be related to someone like that? Blood ties between her and Plisetsky seemed a lot more probable.

"Anyways," she continued, smiling, "what kind of person is she?"

Suddenly Yuuri found himself outright longing for Monday.

Or at least for lunch. Lunch would be an immense improvement.

And I'm back.

:) Thank you for all your kind words so far. I hope you gonna continue to enjoy this.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 07

 _Dear Maestro Cialdini,_ Yuuri wrote maybe a week later, paper smoothed over the back of the _Decamerone._ It had been weeks since he last had written to him and it was gnawing on his conscience, so this morning he had taken his writing implements with him.

But now he sat here, body still aching from the dress rehearsal for the _Wildschütz_ , dancing included, head still buzzing from the rehearsal of the _Vampyr_ pieces and stomach busy with an apple he had chewed down before settling in this nook on the gallery to write.

He heard giggling nearby and looked up. Three ballet girls, still in their training whites, sat there, skirts spread around them like clouds. They all were reading a letter the girl sitting in middle held in her thin, calloused fingers.

Smiling at the sight Yuuri looked back down on his paper.

 _June in Dresden has a lot of May in Milan, maybe minus the back alley stabbings. The Germans are efficient when it comes to their police force. I just wish they would show the same dedication when it comes to winemaking. It is no wonder the Teutons remain so faithful to their beer._

Good starter, he decided. It definitely showed that he was well and had adjusted to Dresden with some success.

 _I did not get a solo in the_ Wildschütz, _which I am sure does not come as a surprise to you. Still, I am sorry. Shortly after there was another try-out, this time for an opera entitled_ Der Vampyr _. From the synopsis it sounds very much like the epitome of German romanticism, very dark and mysterious – or at least it tries to be. From the chorus parts alone I can not discern much uncanniness. I did not try out for this._

Well, there it was. Yuuri looked down at the words and then sighed, deeply. Celestino would not be happy to hear that. He had always been remarkably gracious, kind and supportive when Yuuri had tried and failed, but the same never had applied when Yuuri hadn't tried in the first place.

Too late. Yuuri stared at the damned words that had escaped his pen and gnawed on his bottom lip.

He could already see Celestino furrow his brow, hand twitching towards pen and paper to write an answer admonishing him for not giving himself a challenge.

 _The try_ _-_ _out for the_ Wildschütz _had been a disaster and the one for the_ Vampyr _followed closely after. I was in no shape to participate, not to mention give a decent performance._

Now that was guaranteed to get Celestino ranting towards the paper while he put his pen down.

Yuuri sighed.

 _Work on both the_ Wildschütz _and the_ Vampyr _are coming along well. My German has improved considerably and I have friends who help me when my pronunciation is too Italian to not be noticed, even in a chorus. Regarding the_ Wildschütz, _opening night is in a week and we have daily dress rehearsals. This includes a lot of dancing. In the last weeks we had regular dance lessons with the head of the ballet. It is exhausting, to put it mildly_ _,_ _and Madam Barnosk is quite intimidating. After practise we are all as good as dead. At the very least, it keeps some of our more energetic singers out of off-stage trouble._

 _After the_ Vampyr _we will work on an opera by E.T.A. Hoffmann,_ Undine _. Once again the sujet is rather fantastical and shows a curious amount of romanticism I didn't expect from someone like Mr. Feltsman, especially considering his distaste for his predecessor Richard Wagner. (Speaking of which, I do think you would like Mr. Feltsman very much_ _,_ _if you had a chance to meet him_ _,_ _and I am forever grateful to you for recommending me to him and entrusting me into his care.)_

 _Since there are still a few smaller solo parts open on the_ Undine, _I am currently preparing myself for the try-out for these. Right now I am confident that I can hand in a decent performance._

 _When this letter arrives in Milan_ _,_ _both the opening night of the_ Wildschütz _and the tryouts for the_ Undine _will be thr_ _ough and I hope I can give you good news for both of these._

 _In hopes to find you in good health and plenty of work I leave you now._

 _With tender greetings,_

 _Yuuri Katsuki_

He probably could have written more. Maybe Celestino wanted to know about his life here, how he fared and who his friends were. Maybe Yuuri could tell him about that. But maybe he wasn't interested in that. Maybe now, after a few months, he was glad Yuuri was out of the way and a letter would only annoy him.

Maybe that was the reason Celestino had sent him away after all. Or at least part of it. Yuuri, after all, could not deny that he had improved since he had left Milan, though probably for different reasons than Celestino had anticipated. Celestino could not have known that the theatre housed a baritone in its bowels who was just too happy to tutor self-doubting tenor singers with a penchant for baritone.

With a deep sigh he folded the letter and placed it inside the _Decamerone._ It was almost time for his lesson with Viktor. No performance for him today, so more lesson time, more improvement, more time with Viktor.

Looking around he snuck through doors, down the stairways to the basement corridors and then through the door to the level before the vaults.

Nobody to see, as per usual, and Yuuri went for the pot behind the dust-covered barrels.

The violin was still there and he squatted there, waiting.

Viktor was one of those things he wanted to tell Celestino about. But the mere fact that Viktor lived under the theatre, in secret on top, was a pretty clear indicator that this was not a topic to elaborate on, so he didn't.

Maybe, if Celestino would ask, he would mention a tutor, but nothing more. At this point, Viktor still was his secret and he would keep it as long as necessary. Which hopefully was for a long time; keeping this secret just felt too sweet, no matter how much sweeter the prospect of sharing Viktor with the world would be.

Later, sometime later For now, he enjoyed their meetings and the wait for them.

He didn't have to wait long today.

Maybe ten minutes after he had arrived and squatted next to the violin case he heard the soft fall of footsteps he associated with Viktor and looked up to find him gazing at him.

"There you are." Viktor smiled at him, offering him a hand.

Yuri found himself smiling back. "Here I am." He took the hand and got up, grabbing the violin while he was at it. "What is the program for today?"

"Mainly the _Vampyr_ ," Viktor answered as he unlocked the door and led Yuuri into darkness. By now the way down was familiar enough that Yuuri could step with care even before Viktor uttered a warning. Probably he wouldn't even need Viktor to hold his hand as they walked, but Yuuri was careful not to mention that. He most definitely did not want to not hold Viktor's hand on these occasions and even less he wanted Viktor to think he didn't want to. "But I think we should start working for the _Undine_ too. That is, if Yuri talked you into participating in the try-out."

Yuuri chuckled. "He kind of did."

"He can be quite insistent, I know. If he gets too annoying, please do tell me. I will put him in place."

"No, it's alright, really." Yuuri's cheeks grew warmer. "I kind of need this pushing and probing and coaxing. On my own I don't think I ever would participate in any of these things."

"Why is – oh, careful, we're at the steep part."

Probably he wouldn't have needed Viktor's arm wrapping itself around his shoulder to not stumble and fall, but Yuuri was definitely not complaining about its presence. If Viktor noticed Yuuri's secure steps he did not comment on it as well.

"Why is that?" he asked instead, "you should have had several solo roles by now, probably some leads too."

"Thank you for thinking that way." Yuuri sighed. "Well, you listened to the try-out for the _Wildschütz_ , didn't you?"

"Yes."

"That sort of thing happens to me. I don't even know why. I prepare, I know the songs, but, well. After a while it became some sort of joke in Milan, to bet if I would freeze up this time. Then that grew old and the big question became how long it would take me to freeze up and in the end we didn't say _when hell freezes over_ , but _when an Oriental gets a solo_. That was the point when it was decided I might fare better elsewhere. Fresh start and all."

That had come out faster than he had wanted, a staccato of words he wasn't sure Viktor had understood.

He was just glad it was too dark for Viktor to see his face.

Viktor took his time to translate Yuuri's comment and Yuuri made a mental note to slow down his Italian a little bit.

"You ever wondered why that is?" he then asked. "You sing perfectly fine when you are in a group of people or when you are alone."

"Well, when I'm in a group nobody will notice me in particular." Urgh, one day he would learn not to blurt out the most embarrassing admissions without reflecting on them beforehand. Today, however, was not that day.

"That sort of thing, huh?" Viktor mumbled. "Say, do you miss your friends back home?"

"I miss Milan a bit, yes," Yuuri admitted. "And my guardian, but I didn't have any friends to speak of."

Viktor came to a halt and pulled Yuuri a little closer to him in what almost felt like a hug. "I am sorry to hear that."

Yuuri's face grew even hotter. "No, no, it's alright. I was used to it."

"That doesn't make it alright, though," Viktor argued.

"Maybe not, but it can't be changed anymore." Yuuri sighed. "And even with this I was terrified of leaving. Stupid, right?"

"Maybe, but then again, there are many people in the world just as stupid and there are a lot of things that are worse."

Now Viktor's touch was turning into a real hug. "How are things now?"

"I think…" Yuuri mulled over it.

"Do you have any friends here?"

Thank goodness, a question he could actually answer. "Some from the chorus." Most definitely Johannes. With Alexander and Thomas he got along as well, as with Andreas. Though he would not call them friends yet, they were nice and fun to spend time with. With the other singers he had less contact though.

And probably Georgi.

Viktor's head leaned atop of his; he could feel his breath rustling through his hair and down his neck. "Why are you asking?"

"You're not alone in this, that's all." Viktor now smiled against the crown of his head. "And you are more than a stranger's face to them."

 _And to you?_ Yuuri wanted to ask, yet didn't. Under the given circumstances the answer was kind of obvious anyway.

"Well then," Viktor said and much to Yuuri's regret he let go of him, "if we don't get down we can't get to work on the _Undine_ and then we can't figure out how to work on the actual problem."

Well, at least he still held his hand as he let him the last bit to his cavern.

Yuuri watched his shape reappear, defined by slowly growing light.

"Has Yakov said anything about the try-out yet?" Viktor asked while he walked around, carrying light from one corner of the place to another.

"No, not yet, but I think if he had found someone to play the open parts he would have started rehearsing the songs already."

"Yeah, he isn't one for giving singers a break, I know."

Yuuri smiled. "He knows when to do so, though. I think I like him."

Viktor broke into a broad, heart-shaped smile that made Yuuri's chest open up all the more. "Well, he likes people who work hard. Let's get busy then, shall we?"

"Gladly. If we go through the chorus pieces one-by-one?"

"Of course." Viktor took out his violin from the case and tuned it while Yuuri looked through his music for the introductory song, all the while warming up and stealing a glance at Viktor's sharp, focused profile every now and then.

Viktor looked up, smiling at him. "Well, I'm ready."

"Play on," Yuuri chuckled, "maestro, I beg you, play on."

Viktor's mouth twitched as he took a mocking bow. "Well, if you are begging already, I have no choice, right?" He took up the violin and started to play the intro to the chorus piece. "By the way, no hunching," he commented while moving his bow.

Yuuri drew up his shoulders, breathed and-

"Ihr Hexen und Geister, Schlingt fröhlich den Reihn, Ihr Hexen und Geister, Bald wird unser Meister Hier unter uns sein!" Yuuri had to sing this one softly, yet with force. The whole chorus in this mode helped create the eerie, otherworldly tone of the song, establishing the vampiric master of the myriad of ghosts, spirits, demons and goblins.

"Softer," Viktor whispered. "Softer in the first four lines. Carry the tone on your breath. And after that get a bit stronger." He started again and Yuuri repeated the phrase, softer this time.

"Better. A bit softer still and then you raise your voice to the level of the first try." He started again.

"Ihr Hexen und Geister, Schlingt fröhlich den Reihn, Ihr Hexen und Geister, Bald wird unser Meister Hier unter uns sein!"

Viktor nodded along while he played. So that was adequate, probably. "Wegen grauser Freveltaten Ward der Boden hier verflucht, Drum wird er von uns gesucht, Dass wir uns auf ihm beraten." His voice grew a bit firmer now, the tone carrying on his breath stronger and sharper, almost to a low screech. "Lichtscheu in der Mitternacht, Wenn nur Angst und Bosheit wacht, Schleichen wir beim Mondenschein In die finstre Kluft hinein."

The modulations on his voice went on as he sang through it, returning to the almost ethereal whisper and then back to the hisses and screeches at the end. "Eul' und Uhu, ihr sollt schrein,

Kommt und schließt den muntern Reihn! Eul' und Uhu, ihr sollt schrein, Jo, hoho! hoho! joho! hoho! hoho!"

Viktor went on to fiddle a bit more before lowering the bow. "That was good. You practised your modulations?"

Yuuri laughed. "I think I begin to annoy my room mates."

"It pays off." He smiled again in that way that made Yuuri's heart jump. "But you need to practise how to breathe a tone."

Yuuri scratched his neck. "Yes, that is always a bit of a problem with me."

"It's simple, really. Easiest to control when you hold your fingers to your throat." With one step he was behind Yuuri and his fingertips rested against Yuuri's pulse. "Like this."

Yuuri prayed that he didn't notice how his breath fluttered for a moment.

"Now slowly breathe out. When I start humming, pick up the note, softly. Get louder gradually, like this."

He breathed out, softly, then with a single a. It carried lightly through the air, floating and then grew louder and firmer, before retreating again back into the softness it had held before.

It _was_ a simple exercise and one that Yuuri had done often, but that didn't mean he was exactly good with it. Breathing a tone was almost annoying in how much trouble he had with it, especially considering how he had a bit less trouble with this when he was actually singing. Well, at least most singers had trouble with that when having to do this mid-song and it took a lot of practise each time.

"You got it?"

Yuuri nodded. "Yes."

"Good." Viktor's finger softly brushed over his skin. "Now breathe."

Yuuri breathed out in a slow, even stream and then listened to Viktor letting out a strong a, clear as water.

He found the tone himself and started softly, very softly letting it flow and float through the air, mingle with Viktor's voice and grow stronger, held it for a moment and then took it back again as Viktor's thumb brush over the side of his throat until the tone disappeared back into his larynx.

"Very good." Viktor smiled against the back of his head and then his hand was gone, quite to Yuuri's regret.

"The hand on your throat helps you feel the vibration of your voice. You can control it easier that way. Maybe it helps you."

He stepped away from Yuuri and took up his violin again. "Let's try again, shall we?"

They repeated the exercise with several different notes and Viktor listened to him with a sharp, focused gaze before he suddenly put down the violin.

"Give me a moment, will you – find the next piece to sing."

"What?" Yuuri watched him rush towards his writing desk and scribble something down in frantic haste.

"It's alright, I just had an idea." With gusto Viktor threw his pen on the table and returned, fingers stained dark with ink. "Sorry about that, have you picked out the next song?"

"Yes, it's pretty short." Yuuri held the sheet up for Viktor to take a look at the melody.

"Thank you – ah, frantic search." Viktor nodded. "If you're good with this I say we jump right into the next part."

Yuuri sighed. "Anything that makes this thing pass by faster."

"You don't like the _Vampyr_?"

Yuuri shrugged. "Not really, but well. We got it, I sing it. Play on?"

Viktor played.

And Yuuri sang. "Wo kann sie sein? Wo kann sie sein? Beim Fackelschein durchsucht den Wald,ruft Echo wach, dass tausendfach mit Hörnerschall allüberal die Stimme widerhall'. Janthe! Janthe! - Janthe!"

Apparently he was sufficiently frantic, for Viktor quickly played a bridge to the second chorus piece of the scene.

"Weh! die Vampyrhöhle!" Yuuri half sang, half screamed in terror. "Schnell hinweg mit leisem Tritt!" Softer, he added in pity, "Armer Vater! Armer Vater! Nur schnell hinweg! Nur schnell hinweg! Nur schnell hinweg mit leisem Tritt!" Again louder he pretended to be looking for a missing virgin, who was about to become the first on-stage victim of the titular vampire. "Wo mag sie sein? Hier ist sie nicht! Ja, hier verlor sich ihre Spur! Ach, armer Vater, armer Vater, armer Vater, Nimmer siehst du Janthen wieder, Hier verlor sich ihre Spur. Drum schnell hinweg mit leisem Tritt, Nur fort von hier, nur fort von hier! Drum schnell hinweg mit leisem Tritt! Nur fort von hier, nur fort von hier, fort mit leisem Tritt!"

"What brave fellows," Viktor commented dryly. "But that was good. Really good." He grinned. "You've been working hard."

Yuuri's neck grew warm. "It's all I can do, right?"

Viktor put his violin away for a moment. "Well, it's all one can do to make the best of what you've got. No amount of natural talent can replace dedication and effort. But why don't you like the opera?"

"It's a bit all over the place with its sujet. We have a conflict between two old friends, we have forbidden love and enforced marriage, we have mystery, we have crime... one or two of these things could have been easily left out and we wouldn't miss anything." Yuuri shrugged. "I think the conflict between Ruthwen and Aubrey would have been strong enough of a story in itself."

"Well, what about Malwina then, Aubrey's love interest?" Viktor asked, cocking his head.

"Take the love angle out. They don't have that much chemistry anyways, if you ask me. If you need her as the virgin the vampire covets, she might be Aubrey's sister or his ward or something, pitting platonic love against familial. I always found that a lot more compelling."

Viktor nodded to his explanations, his face a mask of contemplation.

Yuuri wondered why he had talked so much about something that was way above him. "Well, of course I am not composer," he quickly added. "Or a librettist, so I shouldn't speak."

"No, no, these are good points." Viktor tipped against his nose with his index finger. "It is always good to hear what singers think about the pieces they are to perform and critique is never wrong in general. So you would take out the romance?"

"Yes. There are more compelling themes than two men lusting after the same woman."

Viktor nodded and muttered something under his breath Yuuri didn't quite catch.

"Well, let's go on then."

They went through the whole _Vampyr_ in a blaze. Yuuri had practised these damn songs until he couldn't hear them anymore, all the while considering what Viktor would find lacking in his original performance and working on it. It paid off, Viktor had only minor corrections to make to his singing and – also important – Mr. Feltsman had not complained about him.

" _Undine_ now?" Viktor asked after Yuuri had finished the last verse for the chorus with a triumphant "Dem Ewigen sei Preis und Dank! Ihm schalle unser Lobgesang!"

"Gladly." He put the sheet music for the _Vampyr_ aside into his folio and picked out those for the _Undine_.

"You start right away at _Euch segne der_ ," Viktor said. "Have you sang this one before?"

"Not yet, no." Yuuri glanced at his sheet music. "I got the lyrics memorised and the melody seems pretty simple."

"Church-y," Viktor added.

"Yes, sounds about right. Would you play it to me so I get an idea?"

Viktor laughed and started to play. The melody was indeed quite church-y, a somewhat monotonous choral with only few rises.

Yuuri listened intently.

Viktor repeated the melody one more time. "Give it a go?"

Yuuri nodded and when Viktor started playing, this time he fell in. "Euch segne der, der einzig segnen kann, mit bestem Segen heut' und immerdar und führe froh hinaus, was froh begann! Nun küsst euch beid, ihr seid ein bräutlich Paar!"

"Hm." Viktor made a bit of a face. "More dignity, please. Steadier singing, you scooped a bit at the beginning of your lines. Again."

Yuuri repeated the phrase, this time mindful to keep his voice steady and even.

"Better. More joyous gravitas."

Whatever that was, Yuuri did his best to deliver.

Viktor wasn't content, though, and had him repeat the damn phrase over and over again.

"No complaining, I'm much kinder than Yakov is with soloists. But that was better. One last time, then we move on to your parts in the sextet. We will rehearse only your part until you're secure and can sing it in combination with the others."

Yuuri was not sure whether he was supposed to look forward to that. Again Viktor played the melody on his violin two times for Yuuri to memorize before he sang, this time longer and signaling him which parts were his to sing.

"Think you can do it if I take some of the other parts?" he then asked.

"I think, yes." Yuuri frowned. "Why is Heilmann a baritone anyways? His general role as a priest would suggest a bass, right, being elderly and wise and of authority. And the sheet music looks like bass too, but you play it all three keys higher, so we can practise it in baritone."

"Yes, it is a bass role," Viktor admitted, "but Yakov likes to switch things up from time to time. Especially when there are not too many bass singers to go around. And back then when he did it first, he thought it a nice idea that both emotional cornerstones for Undine would be baritones, especially since they're friends, and her authority figures would be bass."

Yuuri nodded.

"He also wanted to stage Lortzing's _Undine_ and arrange it so that Heilmann and the Fisherman would be one person – a protestant pastor. Another bass less to get your hands on. Never came to pass though. Which I still regret, he had joked that I would sing the Undine in that production."

Imagining a young Viktor in this role was far easier than it probably should have been, but his pale hair and the way his voice carried the words made him a rather convincing water sprite. Add to this a youthful, boyish soprano and the picture was perfect.

"I would probably pay money to work on that too with you," he sighed. "Preferably not in the role who abandons and betrays you though."

Viktor looked at him as if he had been slapped and kissed at the same time. It was a nice look on him, Yuuri decided. A very nice look, indeed. Hopefully he would get to see it a bit more often.

He recovered quickly though, smiling again. "That's the spirit. Shall we continue?"

Yuuri nodded. "Oh, yes."

Viktor took up his violin again and started to play a lead-in.

"Halt and Lieb' und Treue fest du liebend Paar." Yuuri made sure that his voice was firm this time. No scooping. "Macht ja Lieb und Treue alles Hoffen wahr."

"Menschenvolk närrisches!" Viktor thundered suddenly in the role of the mighty (and not at all human-liking) water spirit Kühleborn, "Trügerisches, herrisches Tolles Geschlecht! Freust dich wohl recht!"

"Wehe, was wanket, was rauschet am Fenster!", Yuuri exclaimed and hinted at making a cross for good measure. "Weichet von hinnen, ihr nächtgen Gespenster!" These four lines were sung by Heilmann, Undine, Huldbrandt and Undine's parents, leading to another short solo for Heilmann. Exhaustion, Yuuri recalled, he had to convey exhaustion and residue terror. "Führt mich zur Lagerstätte, mich schwindelt's hier und grausts."

"Euch ziemt die beste Stätte solang ihr bei uns haust!" Viktor sang the part of the fisherman and his wife, to switch back to Kühleborns "Tolles Geschlecht, freust dich wohl recht?"

He then fiddled a short melody that was a duet between Undine and her new husband.

Yuuri listened intently until Viktor gave him a nod.

"Hin fließt euer Leben nun in Lieb und Treu," he went on, his voice positively melting, "Freudig höh'res Leben glüht euch süß und neu."

He listened after the last note and watched as Viktor nodded. "Yes, you will make a very good Heilmann. You were still scooping at _Führt mich zur Lagerstätte_ , though, let's work on that."

No break then.

Heilmann wasn't a role with too any long parts, which was probably why Mr. Feltsmann wanted it to go to someone new. It was a perfect piece for a new soloist to try himself and find his footing.

"Told you I would enjoy tutoring you," Viktor smiled, just as Yuuri had to call quits for today. His throat started to feel quite dry. "Some tea?"

"Oh yes, please." He sat and watched as Viktor busied himself with a kettle over the fire.

Today's attire consisted of a purple toga over a black shirt and again loose, striped trousers. These seemed to be a favourite of his, for whatever reason.

His long hair was pinned up with a brass clasp, only leaving some strands free to fall over the left side of his face as he spooned some herbs in a plain blue teapot.

"Say," he asked as the water in the kettle came to a boil, "can I ask you a favor?"

"Sure." Yuuri, about to grab two mugs from the cabinet, paused for a moment. "That is, ask and I shall see what I can do."

"Thank you." Viktor carefully carried the kettle to the table and poured the steaming water into the pot.

Yuuri let the scent of chamomile and lavender wash over his face.

"You talk to Yuri sometimes, right?"

"Occasionally," Yuuri admitted. "Sometimes he even manages not to try and stab me with his stare."

"I knew it. He likes you, great. He could do with some socialising."

Yuuri suspected that Plisetsky thought quite different about that matter but he was careful not to comment on it.

"Which of course means that I do hope you like him as well."

"He can be quite nice in his own way," Yuuri chuckled. "What about him?"

"I'm worried." Viktor poured them their tea. "You know there was some trouble a few months back, right?"

"In March?" Yuuri nodded. "Yes. What was it about?"

"Politics, mostly. People want a democracy, getting rid of the king, people want a unified Germany, preferably without too much monarchy, people want a unified Germany under a monarchy. There was a lot going on but that were the main factors. The uprisings were dealt with quite brutally, I guess. Down here it's not so easy to get a clear picture."

"Well, if some important officials had to flee it had to be bad," Yuuri commented.

"Wagner?" Viktor spat that name out. "Yes and good riddance." He sighed. "Thing is, Yuri got rather invested. Enthusiastic even. Yakov could keep him from getting involved, but…" He shrugged. "And just because they failed once that doesn't mean they're off and out and…"

"You want me to have an eye on him?" Yuuri raised an eyebrow. "That would require him to actively enjoy my company."

"Well, he does. And once you worked together on the _Undine_ you will have an easier time talking to him."

"Why don't you talk to him yourself?" Yuuri asked. "Unlike me you are not almost completely a stranger. He might listen to you."

Viktor laughed. "Doubtful. He doesn't listen to people who punch his idols."

"Mr. Wagner?"

Viktor took a sip of tea, a smile of grim pride on his lips. "The very same."

"Ah, yes, he mentioned something like that." Yuuri took a close look at him. "You don't strike me the violent type, though."

"My, my, I hope so." Viktor sighed. "He made me angry."

Yuuri would have liked to know how that could have happened. Maybe he should ask. Or maybe not, maybe this was none of his business.

"He said something disgusting about Yuri."

Well, apparently sometimes he didn't have to ask if the person he was talking to needed to get something off his chest.

"What was it?"

Viktor bit his lip. "That he should try and get a patron by virtue of his face, since his voice was unlikely to do the trick." His face twitched and twisted in what was still very strong anger.

"Oh."

"Yuri was twelve back then."

Yuuri's stomach sank. For a moment the tea tasted rather much like bile. "Well, not that I am advocating rash and violent action," he mumbled, "but relatable. You ever told Plisetsky about it?"

"I tried. He claimed I was jealous of that old fart. Again, he was twelve. Not exactly a rational age." Viktor made a face. "Wagner got off lightly. After my punch he grabbed a bottle and hit me over the head with it. Of course I was to blame since I started it." He brushed his hair back, allowing Yuuri to take a close look.

The left side of his brow was covered in a net of angry, raised lines that varied from an aggressive red to a sick, almost grey blue-purple that cut into the arched line of Viktor's eyebrow.

The eye beneath it was of the same watery blue as the left one, but Yuuri noticed that it had no focus.

"Really doesn't look good," he agreed.

He lifted his hand, and Viktor didn't react at first, but he flinched away under his fingertips.

"Oh." Yuuri curled his fingers into a loose fist. "Sorry."

"You surprised me." Still, Viktor was very quick to shake his hair back into place and then turned this side away from him. "I didn't see you coming from the left."

"You're blind there."

"Yes." Viktor's fingers softly tapped on the desk. "Bad fall after the bottle."

Yuuri should not have reached out. "Sorry," he repeated and Viktor shrugged in a display of nonchalance.

Yuuri watched him, the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitched, the anxious line around his mouth.

"Say…" he said slowly, still looking for the proper words, "this isn't the reason you're down here, right?"

It would have been rather extreme, but considering what he had seen and learned of Viktor so far this wasn't exactly something he would have put above him.

"Oh please, really?"

"Well, you combed your hair over it."

"It doesn't look pretty, admittedly. Didn't heal up too well. But Yuuri, please."

"Alright." Yuuri sighed. "The colouring is unhealthy, you should take care for it to properly finish healing up. Does it itch?"

"Sometimes."

"It might get better when it heals up and fades a bit. Other than that..." Yuuri considered him. "It looks quite daring. Goes well with your trousers."

Viktor blinked at him and then laughed. "Well, that's one way of putting it. But again, if you're wondering, I do not live down here because I think my partially scarred and still very recognizable and otherwise handsome face is too hideous for the world to see."

"If you ever claim that I personally drag you to the next mirror and have you take a look at yourself," Yuuri declared and in the next moment cursed his mouth.

Viktor ran a hand through his hair and then let it fall back over his eye, covering the scars completely. "Please, do in that case. Yuri likes to claim that my sense of reality can be a bit messy when it suits me. No idea what he means with that."

"I will." Yuuri took a sip of his tea. "So, you sang Huldbrandt once?"

"Yes. Was one of my first solo roles and the poor woman who played Undine had to carry me through this." He laughed. "I was so nervous, half of the time I forgot my cues and she had to stomp on my foot and hiss them to me. Yakov was ready to kill me when we had the last dress rehearsal."

Yuuri chuckled. "Well, he seems to be constantly ready to rip someone's lungs out for not holding a tune." He flexed his fingers. "Let's just hope this won't happen to me."

"I'm sure it won't." Viktor's hand moved over the table and came to rest next to Yuuri's. "And even if it does, it's not the end of the world. You are never alone on stage. There are people relying on you and there are people you can rely on."

"A comforting concept," Yuuri confessed, "And a bit hard to grasp for me." He curled his fingers and then spread them again. "I might need an occasional reminder of the fact."

Now Viktor's fingers leaned against his, radiating warmth against his skin. "I think I can take care of that."

The opening night for the _Wildschütz_ came and with it yet another day of rain (unfortunate since they all were under orders to come in their best clothes) and a flare-up of nerves all around that made Yuuri glad that apparently opening night meant that there was no rehearsal earlier on the day. Rehearsal would not have done any of them any good.

Yuuri arrived a bit late, having shared an umbrella with Georgi, and was in a hurry to get into costume before Mr. Feltsman could yell at him.

There was no sign of Viktor and Yuuri had no time looking or waiting for him as he hurried to the backstage area and it was slightly unnerving.

The scenery he came upon did not much to calm his nerves.

Sara Crispino temporarily had transformed from a graceful swan to a headless duck, muttering while bustling herself all over the place. Mila Babitch had retreated into a dark corner, babbling her lines, and the singers for the Count and the Baron where nowhere to be found, causing Mr. Feltsman to stomp all over the place, cursing and cussing about freelance singers and their unreliability.

The ballet dancers were scattered all over the place, stretching, warming up, fixing some last detail on their costumes and covering their own fluttering nerves with increasingly unconvincing shows of haughtiness.

Their Baculus, Johannes Erhardt, appeared to be a lone rock of calm and reason, trying his best to calm The Crispino (and got snapped at for his efforts) and assist The Babitch with her lines (who almost broke down in tears).

Finally, when the much detested freelance singers came strolling in (utterly unimpressed by Mr. Feltsman) and disappeared in their designated dressing rooms, Mr. Feltsman calmed down and turned to them. "You all! Next week we will hold try-out for Hoffmann's _Undine_." His accent was even thicker than usual. He must be really annoyed. "Not many roles. Both baritone. If you want part, partake." He glared around and Yuuri felt with unease how his gaze lingered very long on him.

"Better you than _any_ not in house!" Mr. Feltsman continued and then took a deep breath. When he continued, his accent had stabilized and was back to its regular level. "You all are not bad. You are good enough for here and most of you can do a lot better."

"Must really hate them," Johannes muttered and Andreas and Thomas chuckled in agreement.

Mr. Feltsman shot them a sharp look and they fell silent again. "Anyways," he continued, "You lot go out and do what you're here for! Give them a good night!" He looked around and then knocked three times against the next wooden beam. "Break a leg."

With that they were dismissed to take their positions, the last chance for a drink or some final deep breath. Yuuri took the chance to tell himself that he would be alright. He was not alone on stage. He was in the chorus. He was not alone. And even if he had no chance to talk to Viktor, he knew that he would be listening from somewhere. But still, talking to him would have eased his mind significantly.

Andreas nudged Yuuri with his elbow. "Oh, look who's come to wish us good luck."

Looking up Yuuri saw Plisetsky leaning against a post, glaring at him.

"We're truly blessed, huh?" he commented.

"Oi, Katsuki!"

"And you are the most blessed of us all, it seems," Johannes commented.

"Apparently. Better I go and receive my blessings then. I'll be back in a minute." He waved and then hurried over to Plisetsky.

"You're not performing tonight, are you?"

"Hell, no." Plisetsky shrugged. "Viktor's here. You haven't had a chance to talk today, right?"

"I came in a bit late, yes." Yuuri scratched his neck. "Sorry."

"Eh. Come now, hurry." He waved and Yuuri followed him down a corridor.

The bustle of a performance was already centred to the backstage area and the ceiling; here it was quiet.

Viktor stood in a shadowed nook, waiting for them and pressing deeper into the shadow at first, before he recognized them and came back out. "There you are."

Yuuri took his hand. "Sorry. I was late and I had no idea where you might be and..."

Viktor pulled him closer to him. "Nervous?" he asked, a smile in his voice.

"A bit, yes. Opening night and all." Yet Yuuri's nerves had stopped fluttering. "I think I am all right, though."

"Glad to hear that." Viktor's fingers smoothed over the back of Yuuri's hand. "Turn around?"

Yuuri did and felt Viktor's hand on his shoulders. The touch was accompanied by some tongue-clucking. "Really, I'm serious about the corset." With that he pulled Yuuri's shoulders back up and then wrapped his arms around him for a hug.

Yuuri chuckled, leaning his brow against Viktor's cheek. "I believe you when you whip one out and lace me up."

"Blergh," Plisetsky commented. "I think you should get back now and warm up, by the way, before I need to vomit."

"Are you listening to the performance too?"

Plisetsky shrugged. "Well, _someone_ has to keep this idiot company and it's not like I got anything better to do anyways."

Viktor let go of him, hands slowly, reluctantly gliding away from Yuuri's arms. "He's right, though, you should go. Break a leg."

"Thank you." Yuuri took a deep breath. "I'll be off then."

"Yeah, break a leg," Plisetsky muttered as Yuuri rushed back to the chorus.

He was met by some curious glances, but given the fact that they all had to start warming up now, he was spared some awkward questions.

"Position!" Mr. Feltsman finally hissed. "All of you!"

The ballet girls ushered on to their position, each pairing up with a chorus singer.

Yuuri nodded a greeting to his dance partner and she shot him a nervous, haughty-facade-cracking smile. "Step on my feet."

"Break a leg," he answered.

It would be alright.

The curtain rose.

The music swelled.

And the show started.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 08

Of course it went well. Madame Barnosk complained about their dancing, but it was her job to complain about their dancing and demand perfection, just as it was Mr. Feltsman's unholy duty to have them sweat blood in order to achieve as much greatness as possible, not being content with anything less.

They were singers, not dancers. They could live with Madame Barnosk bemoaning their "ape-like" movements. They could live with it, especially since Mr. Feltsman's verdict for the night was a grumbled, "Heard worse. We go over it next rehearsal."

Mila Babitch couldn't stop hugging Sara Crispino as they wandered off to their dressing rooms, laughing and chatting on and on.

"You all, get presentable!" Mr. Feltsman growled. "Opening night. You all meet patrons. All! Have fun! No rehearsal tomorrow so you show yourselves and have fun! Behave!"

Most of the ballet girls grumbled in exhausted discontent. They were tired and covered in sweat and would have much preferred to go home, wash up and have some sleep.

Madame Barnosk shot them a look and the soft protest ceased while the girls headed to their dressing room.

Yuuri's stomach, still relaxed and untroubled, knotted again. He turned to Johannes in alarm. "Please tell me I can stick with you and Mrs. Eleonora until we are allowed to leave."

Johannes smiled at him in sympathy. "Not good with people?"

"Yes." Yuuri gestured to his face. "Yuuri Katsuki, that Oriental from Milan who has trouble singing on-stage and prefers not to talk to strangers? Remember him? I certainly do."

"Get dressed!" Mr. Feltsman bellowed, "Now!"

"You didn't have much trouble getting along with us, though," Andreas commented as they hurried to the dressing room.

"Yes, because you took me drinking." Yuuri rubbed his brow, smearing the stage make-up a bit as the door closed behind them. "Even alcohol that tastes like horse piss can help me deal with strangers until they are no longer strangers."

Johannes shook his head while he threw off his costume and then grabbed a wet linen towel to scrub his face clean. "How did you manage to even get yourself a girlfriend?"

Yuuri rubbed his face until he felt like his skin was coming off. "Honestly, there is no day when I don't ask myself the same question."

"Was she here today?" Alexander asked, "are we finally going to see her?"

Buttoning up his shirt gave Yuuri a reason to gaze downwards. "Well, no, sorry, she wasn't."

Considering how his ominous girlfriend didn't even exist, this wasn't even a lie. He maybe should consider a conveniently scheduled break-up before this got out of hand.

"Aw, on opening night, what kind of girl is she?" Thomas complained, "Dump her, I tell you. Not worth it."

"Well, sorry if she doesn't get so many evenings off," Yuuri grumbled, hopefully convincingly enough.

"Bah," August mumbled from his corner. "If that tallow candle got a woman I'll eat my hat."

Yuuri held still as Johannes helped him with his tie.

They exchanged a long, uncomfortable glance while Alexander slowly, very slowly asked,

"Care to elaborate?" With even more deliberation he added, "Dear boy?"

"All I'm saying is, that no proper German woman would let him near her. Then again, down in Cotta there are some gypsies right now. In that case, good for him to get some action."

Yuuri forced himself to smile. "How kind of you to be so concerned about my personal life. I am very touched."

August huffed. "So, how much do you pay her?"

From Johannes came an angry, "What..."

"Don't know," Yuuri shrugged while he busied his hands with Johannes' tie, "How much do you pay your wife to put up with you?"

Steps came closer and Yuuri braced himself for a fist.

It never came to that. Andreas stepped in, grabbing August's arm. "That's quite enough. Mr. Feltsman will be waiting for us. We should go." Still holding August by his arm, he now grabbed his neck as well, dragging him out.

Johannes peered after them and then looked to Yuuri. "Don't listen to him, you hear me?"

"I never do. Listen to this, I mean." Yuuri finished his work on the tie and grabbed a comb, wetted it in a bowl of water and worked on his hair. "Most of the time stuff like that is background noise. At some point you learn to ignore it." Having finished licking his hair back he put his glasses back on and handed the comb to Johannes.

Johannes' eyes widened and then narrowed, as if he had just bitten down on something spoiled. "But that's horrible." He still took the comb and set to work on his hair.

"Yes, it is, I guess." Yuuri shrugged. "More exhausting than horrible, though. I wonder what got August into saying something now of all times, though. I've been here for two months now, he could have been an ass from the start." Maybe if he had, Yuuri would have given up and left. That was not a nice thought.

"Who knows. Maybe he needed this long to come up with something." Johannes chuckled, albeit a bit forcefully. "We know he's not the sharpest tool in the shed."

"No, he isn't," Yuuri agreed as they headed off after the others.

The foyer of the theatre was packed with people, mostly the regular patrons of the house who held subscriptions to the expensive, velvet-and-gilt decorated boxes and some lucky bourgeois fellows who had snatched tickets for the gala or had gotten one by virtue of supporting one of the artists.

Yuuri's eyes hurt a little from all the shimmering, flickering silk and satin of the gowns in the candlelight and found only some short reprieve in the sight of a few man servants (probably private employees of the management) in dark green livery, carrying trays of alcoholic beverages, occasionally actively offering them to guests, occasionally having them just snatched away.

Johannes peered around and discovered his patron, amiably chatting with a petite, blonde lady that Yuuri recognized vaguely as someone Johannes occasionally went to lunch in town with. Potentially another patron.

"Ah, good, they're both here already." Johannes sighed in relief. "Let's go and get social, will we?" He shot Yuuri a smile.

"I would rather we didn't, but since I asked you to let me ride your coattails, I have hardly any say in this, right?" Yuuri sighed.

Johannes nodded and his smile widened. "Exactly. If it's any comfort to you, there's alcohol."

"We talked about this. German alcohol is awful. Beer is horrible. And I have yet to drink wine from here that is good for more that maybe cooking with it."

"Sparkling wine," Johannes cheered, snatching two champagne bowls from a tray being carried past them and handed them to Yuuri before taking another two.

Yuuri raised an eyebrow. "You drink something French? Who are you and what have you done to my friend? What are your demands for his release?"

"You, my dear, poor, uneducated non-Saxonian friend, are sadly mistaken. Those fops are not the only ones who can make something nice."

They had reached the two ladies Johannes was both obligated and very happy to lavish his attention on and Mrs. Eleonora greeted him with delight. "Oh, dear, it was a lovely evening – oh my, thank you!", she chirped as he offered her one of the champagne glasses, while the other went straight to the blonde lady.

"Yuuri, you know Mrs. Eleonora Awesfeld," Johannes smiled, taking one of the glasses Yuuri had held onto.

"Not yet as intimately as I would like," Mrs. Eleonora smiled. Yuuri longed for the floor to open up and swallow him or, in lieu of that, for the moment when it would be acceptable for him to down his drink in one gulp. Potentially awful taste or not, at least alcohol made this sort of situation bearable. "But then again, I think he wouldn't have much interest right now?"

Yuuri looked for his tongue and found it again. Good. "Only in intimate and pleasant conversation, which we can have as much as you desire, Mrs. Awesfeld."

She chuckled. "Well, since she will be in town for a bit, let me and dear Johannes introduce you to the Free Lady Martina Poellchau of Salzburg. Dear, we told you about Mr. Katsuki?"

The lady in question raised her glass to him, smiling up a knife. "Indeed. And my, he is handsome."

Was Yuuri now allowed to down his glass? Nobody was raising theirs though, so probably not. Damn it. "Pleasure is all mine," he mumbled.

"Oh dear," the Free Lady chuckled, "if you call being introduced to a woman a pleasure you clearly haven't lived."

Why was Johannes doing this to him? Why was he chuckling along with Mrs. Eleonora?

Also how was he supposed to answer to that?

"Yuuri hails from Milan," Johannes finally said in a display of mercy. "I am sure if he hasn't lived this sort of life itself he bore witness to enough of it to form his own opinion on whether it was his or not."

"And what was your verdict, Mr. Kahtzukki? "

"That I am a better singer than lover, I am afraid."

"Which has me pitying his poor ladylove," Mrs. Eleonora commented.

Oh. Right. He was supposedly very happily involved with a young woman.

"Well, there's always a thing or two one can be taught," Lady Poellchau purred and again

Yuuri prayed for a swift and painless death.

"So far my serenading has been pleasant enough," he mumbled, "and at this point I would find it unseemly to entertain her in any way I in theory could not commit to in public and broad daylight."

Mrs. Eleonora smiled in what looked like pleasant surprise. "A lovely sentiment. Far too rare in these days. To decency."

"To decency," Johannes agreed, raising his glass.

"To decency then, I suppose," Lady Poellchau sighed not without disappointment.

Yuuri mumbled some affirmation and then, finally, he could drink.

The German champagne was dry as dust and tickled on his tongue; he had to restrain himself from downing the whole glass in one go. It really didn't taste all that bad and he gave his glass an appreciative look.

Johannes smirked. "Told you it is good."

"Yes, it is." Yuuri let his gaze wander through the room and paused for a moment when he caught sight of Plisetsky. The boy stood next to Mr. Feltsman and one rather slender, slight man with pitch-black hair and the smooth, polished-bronze skin of a wealthy Siamese.

His dark eyes sparkled as he talked excitedly to Plisetsky and Mr. Feltsman.

Mr. Feltsman nodded and then said something that had Plisetsky pull a face. Then he nodded and he and the Siamese walked through the room.

It took Yuuri a moment to realize that they were walking towards him.

And indeed, they came to a halt before them.

"Mr. Katsuki, hello."

Yuuri blinked. What? Yuri Plisetsky addressed him in a polite, civilized manner? What was wrong with him?

"Uh. Hello. Uh..."

Mrs. Eleonora looked at him sharply.

Ah, yes, right. Plisetsky had addressed him first, he had some work to do.

"Mr. Plisetsky, Mr. ..." He looked at the Siamese, as if his name might appear over his head.

"Chula," he helped out, making a bow that was at once playful and sincere.

"Free Lady Martina Poellchau, Mrs. Eleonora Awesfeld, both avid patrons of the theatre. And my friend and fellow singer Johannes Johnberg."

"How fine to finally get a chance to talk to you," Mrs. Eleonora smiled.

"I think we haven't had yet the pleasure to meet," Plisetsky said and oh, it was actually quite delightful to see watch him squirm about as he was forced to behave like a decent, well-raised person. "Mr. Katuski, I would like you to meet Mr. Phichit Chula." Yes, indeed, he could sound absurdly polite and kind and it was at once hilarious and just utterly wrong.

"How pleasant!" Mr. Chula chirped; he had a somewhat high voice, with a soft, sandy lilt in it, befitting his friendly face. "I haven't seen you in a solo tonight, but then again, I have to admit that I didn't stay awake for much of your performance. Please, forgive me. Mr. Plisetsky, say that you will forgive me."

"I wasn't even on stage tonight, you have no need to apologize to me," Plisetsky sighed.

"We are in the chorus," Yuuri explained, quickly. "No grand solo roles."

"Yet," Johannes added.

Mr. Chula smiled toothily. "That is a good mindset. I am looking forward to hear you in a solo in the future. And you, Mr. Katsuki?"

Oh. He pronounced his name properly, what a pleasant surprise.

"I..." He shrugged. "I am doing my best, I work hard and I hope it might pay off in time." He dearly wished Plisetsky would stop glaring daggers at him.

Mrs. Eleonora smiled at Plisetsky. "We were missing you on stage tonight. You would have been lovely for the Baron of Kronenthal."

Plisetsky's face twitched an Yuuri already expected him to throw a fit, considering the vitriol he held for the Wildschütz.

He indeed had to take a deep breath before he could answer. "I preferred to fully focus on the Tamino, without distractions."

"It paid off," the Free Lady Poellchau remarked. "you were marvellous. But say, was it just my imagination or was Papageno a little bit uninterested in his Papagena?"

"I fear not." Now Plisetsky made a face.

Mr. Chula turned to Yuuri again. "I have been here for almost an hour, but I have yet to find out where I can have something to drink."

Yuuri wondered if that was acceptable and glanced to Johannes.

He nodded slightly and Yuuri breathed in and out.

"Of course," he then said, "I think I could do with something as well."

"Lead the way, then," Mr. Chula chirped, smiling even brighter.

Together they walked around, looking for something to drink and Yuuri finally asking:

"Have you been long in Saxony, Mr. Chula?"

"Please, call me Phichit. The European naming fashion is very strange to me."

"Phichit then."

The young man smiled again. "Thank you so much – we don't have this family name thing in Thai regions. Chula is my father's name and for my stay here will serve as something like a family name." He shook his head. "It is funny, right? Just Phichit is perfectly fine in Bangkok or any Thai place and there are so many other men with my name. I don't see why it should not work the same way here, but if it makes them happy, I will be Phichit Chula for a bit longer, as I have been for the last two years." His German was fast-paced and carried in a slightly nasal up and down that was quite entertaining to listen to.

"Two years? You have been here for the uprisings then?" Yuuri asked.

"Oh dear, no." Phichit shook his head as they finally reached a servant carrying champagne.

They each grabbed a glass.

"No, I was in England at that point. I have just returned for Dresden and I am very glad to have missed the action. I hear it was not pretty and such things are not good for business. See, my father has established trade relations to several German countries, France and England and sent me over to Europe so that I may take stock of our relations, evaluate them and get deeper insights in both our family business and the mental constitution of our European partners. He considers it a necessary part of my education." His tone was light and cheerful, but his eyebrow twitched as he twirled the champagne glass in his long fingers.

"You don't share that sentiment, I take?" Yuuri asked.

"Well, I have learned a lot during these last few years." Phichit shrugged. "Mainly that I hope we won't accept any trading settlements from England or France in any Thai land unless we wish to share the fate of our neighbours. People from German countries however might be welcome. They are too small and split up to think of themselves as rulers of the world and probably won't try to make us servants in our own house. This makes trading with them easier." He raised his glass to Yuuri. "To the German countries."

"To the German countries," Yuuri agreed and took a sip of champagne, letting the tickle rise into his nose before he swallowed. Oh yes, this was good.

"How long have you been here?" Phichit asked now.

"Two months, almost. I arrived in early May."

"Ah. To be honest, I was glad to see another Asian here among all the Westerners, but I was told you do not actually hail from Japan?"

Their glasses were empty and replaced by new ones.

"I was born in Japan," Yuuri nodded, taking a sip while pondering how to skim over the details of his birth place, "but I lived in Italy for most of my life, first Naples, then Rome and finally Milan." Another sip, but his throat strangely enough remained dry.

The bad thing about champagne was that one could drink it quite quickly, generally speaking. The bad thing about champagne glasses was that they did not hold very much of champagne and thus required constant replenishing. Then again, by now the drink was getting to his head. Maybe he should take it a bit slower? But it did taste too good and his stomach actually had calmed down considerably by now.

"So, you have been singing for two months here, on what position?"

"Uh, I am a tenor," Yuuri answered.

"I suppose your musical director is quite harsh on you. He made a rather stern impression on me," Phichit remarked, letting his gaze wander through the room on the lookout for their conversation topic.

This Yuuri was more comfortable talking about and he managed a relaxed shrug. "He is, but he has to be if he wants to get good singers out of his chorus."

Mr. Feltsman wandered around, talking to a few people for a bit, one of them jotting down notes, before wandering off to the next person.

"And he gets us to work hard, so we all are..." He had forgotten where he was going with this. Anyways, Mr. Feltsman was a good director and nobody should ever dare believing otherwise, nobody, no, no, nobody ever.

"How is practise going, though?" Phichit asked. "Do you all practise together or do you work on your own as well?"

"We rehearse every day." Yuuri took another sip and then a moment to find the words he needed. "And yes, I work outside of that too."

"Oh, you have a tutor, marvellous!" Phichit exclaimed. "How much do you have to pay him, though? If it's not too impudent of me to ask."

It probably was, but Yuuri was not sober enough anymore to care.

"Oh, oh..." Yuuri quickly took another sip of champagne. Yes he had a tutor, the question was what he was to pay him for his tutoring. He had no idea. "Well..." Damn, now his head was fuzzy and his mouth was dry. What a lovely combination. He quickly took another sip of champagne. "Well, we agreed to talk about reimbursement when his tutelage pays off."

"A generous arrangement indeed. It speaks to the faith your tutor has in your abilities," Phichit commented. "If you allow, I would like to meet him some time when I am in Dresden."

"You won't stay here?" Yuuri asked.

Damnit, the glass was empty again. Why did that happen so quickly all the time?

"Not always, my travels also bring me to Leipzig, Hamburg, Kiel and sometimes Cologne or Munich, not to mention France and England." Phichit procured new, full glasses and handed one to Yuuri. "As I said, I am supposed to look after our trading relations, so I am travelling a lot." He smiled. "In comparison to these places, Dresden is wonderfully cosy. I almost feel like I am on holiday."

Yuuri raised his glass. "Then hopefully you can enjoy your holidays here."

"I think I will." Phichit smiled and drank.

Doing likewise, Yuuri spotted Plisetsky, who looked incredibly dour as he made his way to him. Again. This was the third time today, Yuuri was wondering why the boy had it in for him so much. Also, his head was starting to spin a bit.

Alas, his glass was empty again, so he was more or less obliged to put it away when the boy approached him. "I take you are having a good time?" he asked, sounding somewhat polite.

"Very good, yes, thank you." Phichit's smile was as bright as ever. "I just told Mr. Katsuki how much I enjoy every time I am in Dresden. The people here are so friendly and open." He managed to procure another few glasses of champagne and handed one to Plisetsky.

"Yes, I am sure they are. How long will you stay this time?"

"Probably for two weeks." Phichit sighed. "After that Leipzig calls and then Cologne. I hope to have a chance to get back here after that. It is too bad that I missed your last few roles, Yuri, I would like to hear you again."

"Well, you only have to be here for a performance, then you will. Mr. Katsuki?"

Yuuri blinked at him. "Uh. Yes?"

"You are good? You don't seem too well."

"No, no, no, no... no I am. Good. I am good."

Plisetsky raised an eyebrow at him and Yuuri tried to nod for emphasis. Yes, he was alright, really.

Only, that his head was really fuzzy by now.

Plisetsky sighed. "Mr. Chula, I think I need to abduct Mr. Katsuki for a moment. If you would excuse us." He reached out and grabbed Yuuri's arm, hard enough that he lost a bit of his balance and had to hold on to Plisetsky, in order to not fall.

"You need fresh air," Plisetsky commented dryly. "And a break from the champagne." He himself downed his glass quickly, then nodded a goodbye to Phichit and then dragged him away, a hand on his back so they might look inconspicuous.

"Hey..." Yuuri protested, even though Plisetsky didn't need much effort to have him go along. "Hey, whassa matter?!"

"You're drunk. Too much champagne."

"Not drunk," Yuuri protested. He was, in fact, drunk. Damnit.

"I have no idea how much you talk when you're drunk but you've been quite chatty with the Siamese." Plisetsky nodded towards a few patrons of the theatre, but pushed on nonetheless, leading Yuuri away from the people and into the corridors of the backstage area and down, down, down to the cellars. "And also Viktor will be moping if he doesn't get a chance to congratulate you on an opening night gone well."

Viktor. Yes, Viktor was good. Yuuri most definitely wanted to be with Viktor right now. Being with Viktor was definitely preferable to being surrounded by people he didn't know and drinking in order to get through the evening. He let Plisetsky lead him to the basement and the cellars and then into the darkness, even though the darkness made his head light and spinning and stars dancing in front of his eyes.

"Careful," Plisetsky grumbled as the ground got steep. "If you hit your head and throw up over me, I bite your face off."

Yuuri wasn't sober enough to question how he would do that. He just was glad that Plisetsky didn't let him fall, especially considering how his movements were starting to deteriorate a bit into stumbling.

Plisetsky groaned and it sounded like, "Why me?", even through the champagne fog clouding Yuuri's mind.

Yuuri followed him until the lights appeared, dancing in front of his eyes, candles flickering, and then he saw Viktor rising from his desk.

"Yuri," he called, "shouldn't you still be up there – oh dear."

"Urgh," Plisetsky groaned. "There, he's all yours or whatever!" He pushed and Yuuri walked forward, stumbled and fell and Viktor caught him and held him.

"Well, well, that's a surprise," he laughed into Yuuri's ear.

"'llo, Viktor."

"Drunk as an owl," Plisetsky commented. "Thought he'd better off here. Don't think he would have made it back to his place, so – here you go, I guess."

"Thank you, Yura." Viktor's arm slung itself around Yuuri's hip and steadied him. "I think I can take it from here."

"He looks quite out of it," Plisetsky commented, "Sure about that?"

"I got a bucket, in any case. How much did he have to drink?"

Yuuri was set into motion and obediently tagged along.

"Dunno," Plisetsky said, "I didn't take count. But a whole lot of champagne. And probably hadn't had much to eat today. Not on opening night, not him, I mean... he's... he is him after all."

Sadly this was true. Yuuri hadn't eaten much today. It might have been a slight miscalculation on his part, admittedly, but it was opening night, who would expect him to eat properly?

"Thanks. I get him to bed. Are you here tomorrow or do you spend the night as you are supposed to?" Viktor asked, a smile in his voice.

"Dunno what you mean by that," Plisetsky answered, terse.

"Really, you do need to be a bit more social if you want to grab a sponsor, you know how these things go." Viktor sighed. "So, you'll be here or not, just asking?"

"Don't know. Might get drunk, just to bear the sheer stupidity of this whole mess." Plisetsky sounded rather annoyed. "I mean have you seen who's here tonight?"

"A bit. That Frenchman was there, right? Ilroi or what?"

"Leroy. Stupid name, stupid as his owner," Plisetsky sighed. "I don't like him."

"He seems to like you, though," Viktor replied while Yuuri's eyes grew even heavier. "Don't shut an opportunity down without even having considered it. You know whether he is actually wealthy? Or is he just posing?"

"No idea, I don't care, I mean... blergh! And anyways, good night!"

"Have a fun evening, _koteshka_."

"Yeah, yeah."

As Plisetsky's steps vanished in the distance Yuuri felt himself moved.

"Party was nice, I take it?" Viktor asked, chuckling.

"Hmhm." Yuuri blinked up to him. "Many people. Urgh."

"I see. Let's get you to bed then, right?"

"Hmhm. Bed." Bed sounded nice. Very nice indeed. Yuuri nodded along happily as Viktor led him behind the screen.

He hadn't seen Viktor's bed yet, it occurred to him, and the thought made him slightly giddy, especially when Viktor started to remove his dinner jacket and then his tie. "Hey you gonna take my virginity, or what?" he giggled.

Viktor paused and in the flickering candlelight Yuuri could see his good eye growing wide.

"Would you want me to?" He sounded somewhat raw all of a sudden.

Well, that was unexpected. Not that Yuuri had been expecting anything. That would have required thinking and that was quite out of question right now. "Well if anyone then you." He would have never been able to answer the question even remotely coherently if he had been sober. Thank God and the Virgin Mary for alcohol.

Viktor sighed, close to Yuuri's face, tickling his cheeks with his breath. Then he shook his head and turned away to hang Yuuri's jacket over a chair. "I thank you for the offer but no, I will not."

The rejection as well was neither expected nor unexpected, but it still cut through the fog like a torch.

"What?" Despite himself, Yuuri felt tears welling up in his eyes. "You don't want me?"

"Oh, that's not..."

The realization hit him and he sniffed. "No one loves me!", he stated, while his sight got ever more blurry and heat was streaming down his face.

"Oh dear..." Viktor's hand moved over his head. "Yuuri, dear, that's not true at all!"

"Celestino didn't, that's why he sent me away!" Yuuri blurted out, tears coming and coming and not stopping. "And you, you... you don't either!"

He would have very much liked to jump up and leave the room in a dramatic huff, but sadly, the alcohol had other opinions. Even sitting up made the world spin and he flopped right back.

Viktor spread his arm over his chest. "That's not true at all, dear, really, not true at all."

It was a nice thing to hear, for sure, and still. And still.

Yuuri sniffled. "Not true. Or you'd... or you'd..." Not even drunk he could form a coherent picture in his head, even less say it out loud. He only knew he wanted to be closer to him, much closer and that he wanted to be touched and feel him and be felt and damn. "And I love you so much..." It came out as a whine and he was drunk, but that didn't change the fact that it was the truth and that he had to say it.

Damn.

"Yeah. Love you," he repeated and buried his face in Viktor's shirt. It smelled so lovely. Viktor was using Eau de Cologne? How hadn't he noticed until now?

Viktor laughed, short and choked. "Well, that makes two of us." There was a warm pressure of lips on his brow and then his cheeks and nose and chin and Yuuri scuttled closer to Viktor, all previous feelings of rejection forgotten.

The words were slowly sinking in. "You love me?" he asked, half in disbelief, half laughing.

"Do so," Viktor answered, somewhat choked, close to him and then burying his face in Yuuri's neck. "What does that make us?"

"Lovers?" Yuuri suggested, slinging a leg over Viktor's. "I think lovers?"

"Lovers would sound nice indeed," Viktor agreed, lips still leaning against the crook of Yuuri's neck. "You should sleep now, dear. You must be tired."

"Dead tired," Yuuri agreed and oh, how heavy his body was. Heavy indeed.

Viktor chuckled. "Alright, I will be done in a second."  
Yuuri's trousers were removed and Viktor wrapped a blanket around him. "Do you need anything? Water? Or a bucket?"

"Hm." Yuuri mumbled, leaning into Viktor's arms. "You'd be nice."

He heard Viktor laugh while his eyes were closing ever more. "You are impossible. Alright. Just... give me a moment? I will be with you in a moment, yes?"

He left and Yuuri felt strangely rejected again, despite Viktor's reassurances that he wasn't. The feeling caught in his throat, vibrating and pitching his voice.

From somewhere distant he could hear a soft rustle and a few muffled gasps and finally, steps coming back to him, while the last few lights in the cave were one by one extinguished.

Yuuri blinked as Viktor, lamp in hand, approached the bed, face in sharp, flickering shadows, smiling and Yuuri had never wanted anything so much as he right now wanted him close. "You do feel alright?"

The rejection at once stopped humming in Yuuri's throat. "Hmhm..." he mumbled.

"Enjoy it while it lasts, it will pass and I am still not sure whether I should pity you or laugh at you by then." Still, Viktor's voice was sweet and warm as he laid down next to Yuuri, draping another blanket over the two of them. "This is alright?"

It most definitely was, especially when Viktor huddled a little closer and then had a hand run over Yuuri's side, letting it rest on his waist. "Sleep now, dear. Tomorrow is suffering, so enjoy tonight."

And Yuuri did, gladly. 

When he awoke, he at first did not know whether he had opened his eyes or not. Around him it was pitch black, the air damp and cool, but he himself was wrapped into warm, soft blankets. He blinked and stars began flashing in front of his eyes. "Urgh..."

And just from that little sound, his head hurt.

"Awake?" Viktor asked, a smile in his voice, gentle, sweet and way too loud.

"Don't know," Yuuri groaned and again, pain, pain, endless pain to the head. "If yes, kill me."

"Aw, no, most definitely not." Viktor's hand brushed over his cheek. "First hangover?"

"Not really. But first one in a long time," Yuuri mumbled. Very long time indeed. The last time he had gotten that drunk had been years ago and if Yuuri recalled correctly, at something social and public as well. Alcohol had always helped him cope with being surrounded by too many people, so no surprise there. And after that evening Yuuri had been very careful not to indulge too much of neither wine nor Celestino's beloved grappa, no matter how much his guardian would pester him with the stuff. He had learned his lesson and stuck to it.

Or so he had thought.

"Champagne is of the devil," he declared into the pillow. "Makes sense too. The French made it first, right?"

Viktor laughed and it made Yuuri's ears ring. His subsequent groan didn't help matters.

"Did the devil make the Germans make their own version?"

"Yes, by the promise of sparkly, fizzy, head-spinning goodness," Yuuri mumbled. "That's not so much giving a choice but forcing you while tricking you into doing it on your own volition."

"Fine then, champagne of any origin is of the devil," Viktor agreed. His long fingers started to stroke Yuuri's neck. Now that felt a lot better than his splitting headache. "Leaves still the question – did the devil also put one glass after another into your hand and then force your mouth open to pour champagne down your throat?"

Yuuri pondered it a bit. "Technically not," he then admitted. "But still, given any other optional course of action I could have taken last night, drinking champagne seemed to be the only good one, so it wasn't much of a choice after all. If the only choice I have is to commit a sin, it isn't a choice and a sin I commit under force is not my fault."

Viktor seemed to ponder this for a moment, then he laughed. "Oh dear, you _are_ Catholic."

"You make that sound like it's a bad thing."

"It's not, I promise. But highly entertaining." Viktor's hands started massaging the back of his head and Yuui felt his muscles twitch and tense before relaxing completely. His headache eased up a bit as well, fading to a soft throb behind his temples.

"Next time you drink too much you should have someone douse you with some holy water, to scare the devil away," Viktor suggested. "Would be fun to watch as well."

"You seem to enjoy my suffering far too much," Yuuri grumbled, while using his ever clearer head to mull about last night.

"Your hangover is more enjoyable than Yura's. He can be an outright bitch."

"Can be?" Yuuri asked, chuckling and regretting it the next moment. "Ow."

"I'll fetch you some water," Viktor said and then Yuuri heard a soft rustle, clinking and then the sound of a match struck.

The flame cut into his eyes and he groaned again. "Too bright!"

"Sorry, dear." Viktor ran his hand through Yuuri's hair and then lit the lamp. "I'll be right back." He then got up and wandered away.

Yuuri let his gaze follow him and realized that the man was wandering away buck naked. So very, very naked.

What?

Suddenly his headache got worse in an entirely new dimension.

Viktor was wandering around naked in front of him – more or less.

And Yuuri had been quite drunk last night. Come to think of it, he didn't remember much of what had happened after Plisetsky had dragged him away from people, alcohol and potential public embarrassment. Yuuri made a mental note to thank the boy for that when he had the chance. As it was, he probably had embarrassed himself only in front of Viktor. Which was already bad enough, but at least he would not be known as that Oriental with the lack of self-control. Bad reputation was easily accumulated and hard to shed, especially when one had no accomplishments to weigh against it. Plisetsky had really done him a solid here.

Still, that left the question what had happened after Plisetsky had apparently dragged him down here for real and thrown him into Viktor's arms. Then again, the question was probably less what had happened and more if something had happened.

Viktor had slept next to him, naked.

Yuuri had still his smallclothes on.

And Viktor was even more affectionate than Yuuri already knew him to be.

He had called him _dear._

So what was he to make of all this?

Viktor, lamp in one hand and a jug and one of his mugs in the other, returned and yes, he was still naked. Yuuri was grateful that the lamp, being the only source of light, was generous enough to cast obscuring shadows. Right now the concept of a naked Viktor in itself was quite overwhelming. He was not sure whether he could cope with actually getting a good look.

Viktor poured him some water. "Here you go."

"Thank you." Yuuri had forgotten how good water could taste, sweet and clear and like everything young and new.

"Better?" Viktor asked, while running a hand over Yuuri's neck.

"Worlds better." Yuuri may or may not started to purr at the touch.

Viktor chuckled.

"And I am pretty clueless what happened after Plisetsky dragged me away from that devilish elixir and down here, I'm afraid. Can you fill me in?"

Viktor gave his neck a last stroke. "There is not much to fill you in about, actually," he then said, "Yura brought you here, complained a bit, delightful child that he is, and then left. I brought you to bed afterwards and warned you that I might not take pity on you about your hangover. Which I do not. How is your head?"

Yuuri chuckled. "I will live, I think. Might be even fine by the time rehearsal tomorrow morning starts."

"Good."

So Yuuri had not run on his mouth? Huh, interesting. He tended to be a rather talkative drunk and there were certain things that were on the tip of his tongue lately when it came to Viktor. Not that he was glad he hadn't made a drunken love confession. Yuuri suspected that Viktor did reciprocate his feelings (either that or the reason for him being down here was that his teaching methods had been too hands on for someone's comfort) and he would have to talk to him sometime soon. If he had talked while drunk - well, the world would not end from that, but there were certain things one should be sober for.

So… good. Very good.

Yuuri listened up as a fall of footsteps quickly stomped closer.

"Ah," Viktor remarked, "Yura seems to be in high spirits this morning. How lovely."

"Viktor!" a familiar, angry voice called soon enough, "Don't tell me you're still sleeping!"

"High spirits indeed," Viktor sighed. He rose and walked to the screen, giving Yuuri another somewhat shadow-obscured view of his backside. The flickering light though was more than enough for Yuuri to see the lines and curves of Viktor's shoulders, waist and hips. Damn. Damn, damn, damn.

Probably the priest taking his confession would now be bored to death with the frequent addition of swearing to the list of sins he had to proclaim Yuuri free of.

Then another thought shot through his head. "Wait, Viktor, you're-"

"Morning, Yura!"

"Iargh!"

"Naked," Yuuri added, softly and decided that it was probably for the best to get out and find his clothes again.

"Urgh, get dressed!" Plisetsky screeched. "Disgusting! Irgh!" Amusingly, he seemed to have spontaneously developed into a mezzo soprano.

"But I live here," Viktor chirped, voice oozing innocence. "Why should I not be allowed to move about my home in any state of dress or undress as I see fit?"

"Because it's gross! Get dressed… ugh, I get you something!" Plisetsky's steps came around the screen and then he - lit candle in one hand - stood in front of Yuuri, just as he was about to step into his trousers.

"Oh…" Even with only candlelight Yuuri could see the boy blanch.

He looked up and down on him. "Urgh, really!" Then he added, "At least you're not naked!" and walked past Yuuri to a chest, dug through it, retrieved something apparently red and flouncy and stalked off with it.

While he buttoned up his shirt - now that was in need of a wash woman - he could hear Plisetsky and Viktor move about talk in fast, agitated Russian until Viktor called, "Yuuri, breakfast is almost ready!"

When he came around the screen, Viktor was dressed in a tunic that definitely once had been a dress and his striped pants, smiling a bright, heart-shaped smile, and he looked equal parts ridiculous and adorable and Yuuri felt himself melt a little on the inside when that smile was directed at him.

"Morning again," he greeted, while Plisetsky busied himself with the kettle.

Plisetsky looked up from his work and stared at them as they stood maybe two steps apart, smiling at each other, Viktor brightly and heart-shaped and Yuuri warm-faced and shyly, the stupid image of Viktor's naked backside still haunting him. Damn!

He sighed as he carried the kettle over to the table. "Urgh. You two are..."

"Yes, _koteshka_?" Viktor smiled at him. "We are what?"

Plisetsky rolled his eyes, pouring the water into the tea pot. "Nothing," he then grumbled. "Breakfast! Now!"

"Grace first!" Viktor insisted as they sat down.

"I'm in a hurry!" Plisetsky argued. "Long day ahead."

Viktor smiled. "Oh, really? What are your plans?"

Plisetsky shrugged. "So, we say grace now or what?"

Viktor sighed and folded his hands. "If his majesty insists, we may say grace."

They went through their individual Paternosters and then started to pass around tea, bread and butter and cheese.

"So," Viktor asked again, "What are your plans for today that you are in such a hurry?"

Plisetsky shrugged. "Meeting up with some folks."

"Oh, friends?" Viktor continued on, sounding rather excited at the prospect. "How nice!"

"Yes. Friends." Plisetsky nodded. "Friends." He took a sip of his tea, averting his eyes. "Which is exactly why I don't want to stay too long here."

"Really, good for you. You need to go out more and meet people and..." Viktor was still smiling. His right eye wandered quickly to Yuuri and then back to his own plate. "And you, Yuuri, what are your plans for your day off?"

"It's Wednesday," Yuuri answered. "I actually thought we'd work today."

"No." Viktor shook his head. "No regular rehearsal on the day of opening night, because of nerves. No regular rehearsal on the day after opening night, because as Yakov found out, tired and hungover performers are too much of a hassle to yell at."

Plisetsky snickered. "He did it once, right? A few months after he took over chorus direction, if I remember it right."

"Yes. He had us rehearse on the day of opening night." Viktor chuckled. "And was yelling non-stop because we were all so on edge. Of course, his yelling didn't make it any better."

"When the curtain rose, the whole chorus was a ship wreck on the bottom of the ocean. Complete with algae and dead skeletons and such," Plisetsky helped to illustrate.

"Oh, how I love your vivid imagery," Viktor sighed. "And well, our poor solo singers. You can imagine how well it went."

"Oh yes." Yuuri's stomach was squeamish in a way that most definitely had nothing to do with the residue champagne. He had been nervous yesterday, extremely so, but he had only been in the chorus, he had been safe, surrounded by other singers, no collective attention focussed on him. It had been alright in the end, thanks to that. Now, a solo role on the other hand? And he should sing one?

He turned to Plisetsky, one eyebrow raised. "All things considered, I get the feeling you want me to die of a heart attack, preferably on stage?"

"Nah. Imagine the bad press for the theatre. Yet another singer dead." He shot a pointed look to Viktor, the meaning of which remained hidden to Yuuri.

"And well, the next morning at rehearsal we were all exhausted and hungover and plain terrified of him," Viktor continued. "Most of us had spent the whole night drowning our sorrows, because – it wasn't a good performance. Really not."

"You all totally sucked," Plisetsky agreed. "Audience didn't notice, though."

"Yes, Yakov was totally right yelling at us for that, no one's arguing about that." Viktor chewed on his bread. "End of story, Yakov had no voice, our lead soprano broke down in tears and half the chorus did the same. Come the day before next opening night and he declares that there won't be rehearsals for the next two days and we should get some sleep. Hasn't changed it since." He took a sip of his tea. "My point about this is, when he orders rest and recuperation, I would advise against not following his orders."

Yuuri sighed. "So, no lessons today?"

"No lessons today. What are your other plans?"

Yuuri shrugged. "I don't know. I could stay anyway?"

Plisetsky made a show of gagging, but was cordially ignored.

Viktor seemed to ponder it, but only for a moment. "I am sure it's a fine day," he then said, "you should go out and enjoy yourself. Meet friends. Enjoy the sun. Don't stay cooped up inside when you could have a nice walk one the riverside." He smiled and did so in an obviously very forced fashion.

"Alright." Yuuri nodded. "It does sound like a nice idea."

Plisetsky chewed on his slice of bread. "I'm headed to the library today after my rehearsal today. Want me to get some books for you?"

"That would be lovely, thank you."

"Any specific interests?"

Viktor shrugged. "Take what you see fit. I'm not picky right now." He took another sip of tea, gazing in contemplation at the empty air in front of his nose. "How was the party anyway?

Aside of the prominent feature of devilish beverages."

"Lively," Plisetsky answered, making a face. "Many people. Got introduced to some ladies."

"Oh dear." Viktor sighed.

"There's not much I could do, right?" Yuuri answered in defence. "You introduced someone to me in the presence of people, I had to introduce back."

"You could have excused yourself for a bit."

"That would have been rude."

"So?" Plisetsky asked, causing Yuuri to groan a bit. "You didn't return to your friend after you left with the Siamese. Rude as well."

"I didn't return because you dragged me off."

"I dragged you off because you were drunk."

"Ah. Right." Yuuri nodded. "Thank you for that, by the way."

"You're welcome."

"Siamese?" Viktor asked.

"Yes. Spice trader or something. Phichit Chula." Plisetsky shrugged. "He's often in Dresden. Disgustingly cheerful and friendly. I always feel like someone's pouring honey over me when he's talking. And he's not even faking it. Disgusting."

"Sounds lovely, I like him," Viktor hummed.

"Yeah, the moment he spotted Katsuki he insisted on being introduced. Yakov couldn't be bothered, so I had to do it."

"He said he was excited to meet another Asian here," Yuuri mumbled. "There aren't many around here, I take?"

"No. What did he want from you anyways?"

"He wanted to chat," Yuuri answered, feeling Viktor's gaze falling upon him. "Talked a bit about his business, but that's it. But yes, he is nice."

"And very definitely loaded," Plisetsky commented. "Keep that in mind when you start singing solos."

Viktor smiled dryly. "You know, Yuroshka, before you start helping others to snatch a wealthy sponsor you should thing about getting one yourself."

Plisetsky made a face. "Anyways," he sighed, "I need to go." He got up. "Bye. Have a nice day." He headed off towards the exit. "Katsuki, don't stay here all day, you'll catch the weirdo from him!"

"I love you too, _koteshka_!" Viktor called after him, laughing.

Plisetsky's steps disappeared in the distance and Yuuri shook his head. "Koteshka? What does that mean?"

" _Kot_ is the cat," Viktor smiled. " _koteshka_ is the kitten."

"I guess, if anyone else calls him that nobody will ever find the body?"

"Most certainly. So, what did you think of that man?"

"Phichit Chula?" Yuuri shrugged. "Nice. Friendly. Probably not too versed in music. Seems like the sort of person who goes to the theatre to socialise rather than for the performance on stage."

"Well, there have to be people like that as well, I guess." Viktor sighed. "Otherwise?"

"Johannes and his patron introduced me to a friend of hers." Yuuri shivered. "Thinking about it, Yuri saved me the first time when he brought Phichit over and distracted her."

"Middle aged wealthy widow with an unhealthy interest in young men and their love lives and the quality thereof?" Viktor asked, smiling. "I know the type. Distraction is really the best method to get away from them. So you had fun?"

"A bit. I am not good with such things, though." Yuuri saw Viktor's hand move, as if he wanted to reach out to him, but then he did not follow through. "What are your plans for today, though?" he asked.

"Nothing special. Composing a bit. Later sneaking up into the attic and torturing the poor cembalo for a bit to see whether my ideas sound as good in practise as they do in my head."

"What are you working on?"

Did Viktor actually blush? And smile rather sheepishly? Yuuri's insides once again got rather soft.

"Uh, an opera, actually." Yes, indeed, Viktor was blushing, his smile had a distinctively nervous quality and his hands were fluttering a bit, moving over the surface of the table and then running through his hair so that Yuuri wanted to hold them, just a little. "I am reworking it a bit right now. New ideas for the story."

Yuuri cocked his head, mimicking Viktor's way of looking at him, he noticed. "You are writing the libretto too?"

"There hasn't been much material for me to put music to, at least not in German." Viktor ran a hand through his hair, eyes, both the working and the blind one flitting about nervously. Yes, he was most definitely nervous.

"I'd like to hear some of it sometime," Yuuri said. "If you want to, of course."

"I..." Viktor cleared his throat. "Well, I am currently rewriting some things, so, I don't really think I have something to show yet."

"I see." Yuuri nodded. "Whenever you think you got something then."

"Of course." Viktor breathed out and then breathed in. He again looked ahead in contemplation. He bit his lip and Yuuri wanted to lean over and stop him from it, but he refrained. Kissing was most definitely something you did not do unless you had made your affections clear and were assured of them being mutual. There was a certain order to these sort of things after all.

The silence between them stretched.

"If you want to get out unnoticed without too much trouble, you should go now," Viktor said finally. "I accompany to the door."

Yuuri nodded and tried very hard to hide his disappointment at being dismissed already.

"Thank you. I can take a look at the music store, whether they got the cats' duet."

"Thank you." Viktor got up. "Let's go then."

They walked though the darkness in silence, Yuuri interlacing his fingers with Viktor's. He noticed that Viktor's fingers twitched at first before relaxing into the touch and answering to it. Something felt off and it was unsettling in how off it was.

Yuuri wanted to lean against Viktor's shoulder to reassure him as much as himself – since there was no telling what was off – but for some reason, he ultimately shied away from the idea.

When they arrived at the door to the basement it was Viktor who pulled his hand away and did so so gently that Yuuri only noticed it when he clasped thin air.

Okay, so things did not only feel off, they actually were off.

But what was it?

Yuuri tried his best to find some words to ask Viktor, but the moment he opened his mouth he heard Viktor speak. "Well, have a lovely day. See you on Wednesday then."

Then the door opened and Yuuri was gently pushed out, the door was closed and then locked again.

Wednesday. So whatever Yuuri had done to offend Viktor, it apparently had not been enough for him to refrain from spending time on Yuuri's lessons or to outright deny Yuuri to touch him.

But the shift from the extremely affectionate Viktor of this morning to the withdrawal Yuuri had just witnessed was drastic.

What had Yuuri done to him? It had to be quite bad if Viktor didn't want to bring it up. And it had to have something to do with last night, given the fact that Yuuri had no recollection of it. (Maybe that was for the best, if his actions had really been that ostracising.)

He would have to ask to find out and he had to find out, whether he wanted or not. If Viktor hadn't said what was the matter by the end of their Friday lesson Yuuri would ask him what he had done wrong and how he could make it right again. If he could make it right again, that was. And if not – well, better he didn't mull about it until it was time to mull about it, right?

Right?

He did, in fact, mull about it.

And as per usual when he mulled about something he was anxious about, his anxiety would not let up.

Thankfully, Mr. Feltsman had a sharp eye on his singers, not allowing them a moment to dawdle. As long as Yuuri had something else to focus on, his thoughts did not spin quite as much.

Johannes quizzed him about Phichit ("He seemed nice. How is he? He did not want anything weird, right, if he did, I'll punch him back on his tree.") and disappearing without notice ("Tell me at least! You got me worried, idiot!") before filling him in on what he had missed ("Lady Poellchau tried to take Plisetsky home. And survived. No idea how she did it."). They all talked about the press concerning the _Wildschütz_ ; largely positive, praising the solid performances of the solo singers, especially young Mila Babitch's performance as Gretchen who had proven with her easy, innocent charme that a German ingénue would not have to fear comparison to any Italian primadonna.

Both the German ingénue and the Italian primadonna had been spotted sharing newspapers, reading paragraphs out to each other and giggling like little girls.

During their lesson Viktor was kind, strict and helpful as usual and Yuuri tried his best to not be hurt when the only touch Viktor himself would initiate was to pull his shoulders back and correct his posture. He didn't even linger like he usually did.

On Thursday Yuuri was alright.

He exchanged greetings and jokes with Andreas, Thomas and Alexander, heartily ignored August and sang.

On Friday it was the same, at least in the morning. After rehearsal he went to town, finally picking up the sheet music for the _Duetto buffo di due gatti_ he had promised Viktor to bring, and then returned for the preparations for the evening performance even earlier than usual, pacing the corridors, lurking near those dark corners Viktor preferred to hide in before performances, hoping to catch sight of him and have a chance for them to talk even before tonight's lesson.

But Viktor was late.

The first of the other singers had already come in and would soon get to the dressing room and change when Yuuri finally heard soft steps.

"There you are," he said and yes, the pout was very present in his voice. "You are late."

"I'..." Viktor started, but didn't finish. "Have you been waiting for long?" he asked instead of whatever he had wanted to say in the first place.

"Yes," Yuuri answered. That, however, sounded too curt for his own taste, so he quickly added, "Not much to do in town."

"Have you eaten?" Viktor asked, coming a bit closer to him.

"Yes. I spotted another soup vendor near the Albert bridge. Good one this time, even."

"Not nervous, then?"

He had been worse, Yuuri realized. "Well, it's not opening night anymore, right? And we did well. I think we will do alright today as well. Probably even better than the first time around. Mr. Feltsman drilled us through the parts he found faulty." He was not fully alright, but it was better than Yuuri had often been before a performance. "It's better."

"That is good." There was a smile in Viktor's voice.

Yuuri waited for him to tell him to come closer and turn his back to him, he waited for Viktor's hands on his shoulders.

It never came. "Have fun," Viktor said, "and work hard."

And then Yuuri heard only his steps retreating and with each step he felt the air leaving his lungs without coming back for a while.

And then his breath returned all at once and with it a flash of anger on top of that. Just what had he done wrong?!

He wanted to call after him, but that might have drawn attention to the fact that there was someone in the shadows who did not want to be seen.

He swallowed the call back down, and with it apparently so much air that breathing did not seem possible once more. He stood there staring after Viktor, staring into the darkness.

It was time for him to go and get dressed and then warm up and get ready for performance. But he couldn't move.

He stared down at his feet, willing himself to move them and they refused to obey him. What was wrong with him?

Why could he not move? Why now?

He had to leave. He had to go, he had to get ready, he had to move, he had to, he was not allowed stay here, he couldn't fail.

He did not move.

"Yuuri?"

Something – someone – grabbed him by the shoulder and as he was turned around.

"Yuuri, what's the – oh shit." Johannes had the uncanny ability to express himself very eloquently, aptly and with very little words whenever he needed to.

Yuuri felt himself dragged away from the corridor and slowly, slowly the feeling started to creep back up his body. His lungs started to do their work again.

Good.

"Thank you," he mumbled, "you seem to have a knack for showing up when needed."

"Dumb luck, really." Johannes leaned him against a wall. Yuuri could feel the cool, hard stone meeting his back and he spread his hands to grasp as much of the feel as possible. "But – you look awful. Like, like..."

"Try-out?" Yuuri suggested, attempting and failing a laugh, "Something like that."

"Nerves?"

"Guess so. No idea why." Which was a lie and he would have to confess on Sunday. With all that he had planned to confess he probably should prepare himself to pray down a rosary.

(The very fact that he could think in such dimensions again was somewhat heartening.)

Johannes apparently did not recognise too well when he was being lied to. "Okay, okay..." He blew his cheeks, thinking hard. "Okay... deep breaths, yes? Deep. Yes, that's good," he praised as Yuuri managed to follow his directions. "It will be alright, it will be alright, you hear me? We did really well in the opening night. We are really good. Really. We are good, you can trust in that." His hand again clasped Yuuri's shoulder. "It will be alright, really."

"I know." Yuuri sighed. "I know, but... I don't know. I wish I knew why this happens, but I don't know, I just know that it is the way it is."

Johannes shook his head very slightly. Then he nodded. Then he shook his head again. Nevertheless, his hand remained where it was, on Yuuri's shoulder. "Something happened?"

Yuuri pondered it a bit, but then shook his head. There were things he could not talk to Johannes about, no matter how much he wanted to. Maybe Johannes would have understood. Maybe, just maybe he would not have judged him because he liked men, if anything. He would still be cross to have been lied to about Yuuri's sweetheart, though.

Or maybe not. Maybe revealing that part of himself would mean loosing someone who had become a very dear friend in a rather short time.

Yuuri did not want to risk that.

And it was not like he could mention Viktor, no matter what turn such a conversation might take.

He shook his head. "No. I don't think so, really."

"Trouble with your girl? That can put someone out." Johannes smiled sympathetically.

"Yes." That was as close to the truth as it would get. "Yes," Yuuri said. "Yes, that's pretty much it."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really. I probably have done something to offend her, but I have to know what it is that I did, so I can make it right again and..." He ran a hand through his hair. "Damn..." Everything was muting down again. Not good, so not good, so definitely not good.

"Alright." Johannes sighed and looked around. "Where's... ah – there... Mr. Erhardt? We got an emergency here! You got something with you?!"

Steps. Then Yuuri hear some talking and then he felt something cold touching his lips.

"Alright, one small sip." Johannes Erhardt's friendly, full bass resonated in his head and his chest as Yuuri gulped and felt the alcohol burn down his throat and into his stomach. He coughed and felt a strong, fleshy hand clapping his back. "Urgh."

"Better?" Johannes Erhardt laughed, accompanied by the chorus' Johannes.

"I am not sure." Yuuri himself mumbled, still coughing. Then he blinked. His head _was_ a lot clearer. "Yes, I think it worked. What was that?"

"Grain spirit infused with cinnamon and nutmeg," Johannes Erhardt grinned. "You only need a drop to get a clear head and it is too hot on the tongue to be drunk in large quantities."

Yuuri smiled. "I see. Thank you."

"Better now?" Johannes Erhardt asked and Yuuri nodded. Right now it was hard to imagine how this cold would ever again creep over him, not with his tongue and throat burning like that. "Good. Now get dressed, you two. We got a performance to give, right?"

Yes, that was right. Yuuri nodded, still Johannes' hand on his shoulders. They had a performance to give. They had a job to do.

And at the very least, even if he was alone off-stage, he was not on-stage. There were always fellow singers.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 09

Well, if there was one good thing Yuuri could say it was that he didn't freeze up again and that he sang and danced through his parts, but it felt more like his body going through a well-practised movement than him actually doing any significant work. It was supremely unsatisfying, but at least he got through it.

"You need a drink," Andreas declared when they were done and dressed back into their street clothes. "You look terrible."

"I know," Yuuri sighed as he dried off his face. Even after he had scrubbed the stage make-up off and reddened his cheeks and brow significantly in the process, his nose was pale and his eyes shadowed. His conversation with Viktor from before definitely had cost him too much sleep in the last few days. Just another reason to clear things up quickly. He really would like to sleep properly again, without his head cracking itself to pieces over this mess.

"But the last thing I need is a drink, really."

"Oh, come on, you could do with a night out and have some fun!" Alexander complained. "First Johannes, now you! Really, thank you, guys, I will never get myself a girl, all they do is make you feel miserable."

Yuuri sighed. "You have no idea."

"But you could do with some fun," Johannes agreed. "I think I might join in as well."

From Andreas and Thomas there was hooting.

"No, really." Yuuri shook his head. Company, drinks and noise really were the last things he needed today. One instance of freezing was quite enough. Not to mention that he had to talk to the cause for his current condition. "I... sorry, I..." Damn. "I'm not well. I'll be better tomorrow, but..." His fingers twitched. Why were words so hard? He finally decided that continuing to try would only prolong his suffering. "Well. Bye. Have fun! See you tomorrow." And with that he ushered himself out.

Admittedly, that could have gone better, but that would have involved talking and explaining and neither felt Yuuri up to that right now, nor had he time for that. Viktor was usually already waiting for him at this point.

After a performance their lessons were held in the attic where they had met the first few times and right now Yuuri clearly preferred the attic. Up there they could work using the cembalo instead of only the violin, which seemed to be Viktor's favoured method of accompanying Yuuri and drilling new melodies into his head. Additionally, it was easier to reach and later at night sneak out again, even when he was dead tired, and after that first rainstorm enforced sleepover he had always sneaked out and gone home. Viktor had to get down to his place and get some sleep too, after all, and Yuuri himself paid for his bed and board in the boarding house and he should be damned if he he didn't make use of it. Not to mention that on Wednesday he had been rather distracted by the idea of being in so close proximity to that damned bed. Which he had still no idea of what exactly happened in it. Or what didn't.

So now he climbed up the flies and stairways and balanced along the precariously thin bridges towards the corridor and then duck into the darkness.

Of course Viktor was already there. Yuuri could see a faint line of light flicker out from underneath the door.

He still knocked, announcing his incoming, before opening the door and slipping in. "I hope I'm not late?"

Viktor leaned against a window and then started to move about the room once Yuuri had closed the door, lighting up his collection of candlesticks. "I almost thought you would not come," he confessed while the room grew brighter and brighter.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I thought you might be unwell." Having finished his work, Viktor blew out the candle in his hand and then stood there for a moment, looking like he wanted to walk towards Yuuri, but he remained where he was. "You did not look too well before."

 _Now who's fault would that be?_ Yuuri wanted to ask, but that was not fair. It wasn't Viktor's fault that Yuuri's nerves could fray so easily and he certainly had no idea how much he had effected Yuuri's present state of mind. Yuuri being weak was not Viktor's fault and Yuuri would not force him to burden himself with something he had no part in.

"I had a case of nerves," he said. "I am good now, though. Though I think my performance suffered from it today."

"It did." Well, trust Viktor to not mince his words when it came to Yuuri's performances and the faults he found with them. "I almost did not hear you."

"I sang, though." Yuuri reached into his folio. "By the way, here is the Cats' duet."

"Oh, you really thought of it!" Viktor clapped his hands, mouth widening into that heart shaped smile of his that made Yuuri's pulse skip. Now he finally came closer and took the sheet music, smiling broadly.

Maybe it would be alright. Yuuri could certainly hope for things to be good, right?

When Viktor took the papers, Yuuri swiftly let a finger run over the back of his hand, hopefully an initiation for further contact.

It was not. Viktor withdrew his hand in a slow, even movement, all the while smiling.

"Thank you so much." He quickly leafed through the sheets, chuckling. "You were right, this _is_ easy."

Yuuri bit on his lip and then willed himself to smile. Smiling was always better than showing hurt. "Celestino clings to the theory that it was put together the way it is because the person who did it had to work with children."

"Celestino?" Viktor asked with something like polite disinterest in his voice. "Who's that?"

Yuuri could have sworn that he at some point had mentioned him by name, but apparently he had been wrong. "Maestro Cialdini. Musical director at the _Scala_ in Milan," he answered. "He pretty much raised me."

Viktor seemed to think about this for a moment. Then he nodded, something like a smile tucked into the corner of his mouth. "Ah, yes. You mentioned him before. The fellow Wagner-hater."

"The very same," Yuuri confirmed.

"You must miss him a lot, even if you do not miss Milan," Viktor remarked.

"I do." It still hurt to think about how he had been sent away. He had dreaded the day of his eventual departure from the moment it had been announced to him.

And yet he had obeyed and left. And now here he was.

"But now I am here and all I can do is make him proud to have raised me," Yuuri sighed, thoughtfully. "And I don't regret coming here," he finally added.

It made Viktor smile and Yuuri dearly wished he knew what the matter was. Viktor obviously had not all of a sudden decided that Yuuri was annoying and terrible and embarrassing. He very much showed interest in him and his life and maybe it _was_ just Yuuri's imagination, but he did see a reflection of his own feelings in Viktor's eyes.

Well, Plisetsky knew Viktor better than Yuuri did, so Yuuri decided that he could rely on his assessment of Viktor's character as utterly and irrevocably weird. This weirdness of his (along with his voice) was what had so utterly charmed Yuuri, but right now he found it supremely and exasperatingly confusing. He hated confusion.

"Well, in that case we should get to work, right?" Viktor remarked and went to the cembalo. "I say we should go through the songs from the _Wildschütz_ for a start. You really were not up to your usual form today. We should find out what caused this and how to amend it."

"I was distracted today, I fear," Yuuri sighed. "I'm sorry for that. But..."

"But what?" Viktor sat down at the cembalo and looked up to Yuuri, eye wide with expectation. "What is the matter?"

"That's what I would like to know." Yuuri took a deep breath and stepped closer to the cembalo. He had to remain strong now. He could not get weak now. He had started it now, he had started to ask and gotten Viktor's attention. Now he had to stick to it, until he had an answer of sufficient detail and elaboration.

Viktor blinked up to him. "What?"

"Maybe I'm just imagining things, but you have been acting strange for a few days." _Good start, Yuri, really good start_ , he praised himself. He knew something was up and he would be insistent on finding out what it was.

"Did I?" Viktor continued to ask. "I have not noticed. Tell me what you noticed, so I can change that."

Yuuri thought about it long and hard. Viktor would not touch him longer than was entirely necessary for some reason, but Yuuri could hardly bring that up, now could he? That would have been extremely weird.

But he had to say something, right? After all, he had started this. "Well..." He shrugged. "It's just a thought... I might have offended you and I don't know how, so please tell me."

Viktor shook his head. "You did not offend me and you did nothing wrong." He sounded completely sincere, but nonetheless Yuuri had the feeling that something was not right. But there was no way he could get Viktor to tell him if he did not want to, right?

Yuuri nodded in defeat. "Alright. Let's start with that first thing, yes?" He even managed a smile. "I think I can do cheerful better now."

"I do hope so." Viktor's smile was as warm as it always was. That gave Yuuri some hope that things were not completely ruined, despite the sinking feeling in his gut. "Next time do it on stage then, yes?"

Yuuri nodded. "I will."

"Great, let's get started."

Yuuri waited for a moment until he realized that Viktor would not pull his shoulders back today. Well, maybe his posture was good. Viktor had not pulled Yuuri's shoulders back before the performance. Maybe he was just alright today, nothing to pull back.

"Straighten your posture, will you," Viktor said from his spot behind the cembalo.

It again was enough to knock the air out of Yuuri's lungs. He stood there, nodding and listening to the cembalo notes filling the room.

He missed the moment where he was supposed to start and the music died down.

Damn.

Viktor looked at him with a deep frown on his face. "You really are out of sorts tonight. Are you sure you are alright?"

"No!" Yuuri blurted out, "I am obviously not, but neither are you and if you don't tell me what I've done wrong, I..." He what? He could not work on what he had done wrong? He had brought that one up already and Viktor had not answered to that, so that was pointless. He would not tell what was wrong with him? Now that was a special kind of stupid, even by Yuuri's standards. Viktor knew Yuuri frazzled easily, that was nothing new for him to talk about. Viktor had made an attempt at contact after Yuuri had had a breakdown, so he should be familiar with it. And Yuuri's nerves were still not his fault.

Damn. Just damn.

He heard steps and then felt Viktor's presence next to himself. "Sit down." He felt a hand on his shoulder and was gently coaxed towards the couch. Strange how his feet moved but it they didn't seem to belong with his body. Or rather, they belonged with his body. It was just that Yuuri did not.

Viktor sat down next to him, hand still on his shoulder.

Faintly Yuuri registered that he was shivering.

"You did nothing wrong," Viktor repeated and again Yuuri wanted to believe him. He wanted to believe that Viktor was not offended or angry with him, but his sincere, smooth, warm voice did very much not match his behaviour.

Yuuri's face had to have betrayed some of his thoughts.

Viktor, still looking at him, sighed. "Really."

When Yuuri did not immediately answer, he sighed. "Before you said that by and for yourself you would not seek out solo roles."

"I guess I did," Yuuri mumbled.

"What do you mean by that?"

Yuuri now managed to look up. His face must have looked horrible, judging by the way Viktor's eye widened. "Isn't that obvious? Have you looked at me during the past few hours?!"

"I have." Viktor took his hand away. "I have looked at you for quite some time, in fact." He sighed. "And can only repeat myself. You have done nothing to give offence."

"Then what is your problem?" Yuuri noticed that he had raised his voice and swallowed. "Sorry."

"There is no problem," Viktor reiterated. "Or rather no problem you can help with, sadly."

"Try me," Yuuri offered, "you could try before you say something like that." He lifted a hand to Viktor's face, but paused in the movement. He was on the left side. Viktor did not react to him and Yuuri let his hand fall. "Alright. Don't tell me then. We should get back to singing."

"Are you sure? If you are too distracted to work it would be better if you got home. Be more alert tomorrow."

"And what am I here for if not to sing?" Yuuri snapped and this time he did not apologize.

Damn him. Damn him for being so damn confusing and infuriating and for Yuuri being so in love with him.

Viktor looked as if Yuuri had just poured cold water over him.

Yuuri sighed. "Let's just get to work, shall we?"

"Alright." Viktor got up and went to the cembalo.

They did not work long, only going through the chorus pieces of the _Wildschütz_. Apparently Yuuri managed to channel his irritation at Viktor into the necessary cheerfulness, since Viktor did not admonish him for not being exuberant enough. Either this or Viktor shied away from yet another argument.

However, after Yuuri had sung the last cheers the villagers had for their Count, Viktor got up. "That has to be enough," he declared. "It is really late and you have rehearsal tomorrow morning."

"It's not like this never happens, right?" Yuuri argued. "I often stay late and am fine the next day."

"But usually you are not as drained as you are now." And now, now of all times, Viktor decided that he should step closer, close enough for Yuuri to feel the warmth radiating from his body. Damn this man.

And now he smiled at him in this way that made Yuuri's insides melt and his heart sing, despite how annoyed he was.

"Please," he whispered, "you need to rest. Go home, please, and get some rest. Please."

Yuuri saw how he raised his hand, then paused and let it fall again.

"If you insist."

"I do," Viktor said. "I can't help you with what troubles you right now and I don't think you can help me with mine, but I can see to it that you are rested and in good health."

Alright." Yuuri moved his hand, just so, and it brushed against Viktor's very casually. "I take my leave then for today."

Viktor's fingers twitched, as if longing to wrap themselves around Yuuri's hand. Now was that good or bad? "Get home safely."

Yuuri nodded. "I will."

He then left, quickly and without turning back.

The night air was heavy, thick and oppressive as he slipped out. Maybe his spell of breathlessness today had something to do with the weather? It was quite possible, and a more bearable explanation than heartaches and rejection as causes.

Yuuri forced himself to take deep breaths as he walked home and arrived at the boarding house well past midnight.

Viktor did not dislike him, at the very least. That was in itself good, even though the way he currently behaved was no less irritating. He could work things out from here. If he had misread whatever signs Viktor had sent him and there was no mutual interest, well then. Yuuri would be very happy to be his friend, if there was need for him to fill such a position. If he indeed did return Yuuri's feelings, that was good as well. In any case they would have a lot of talking to do.

He was wide awake for practise next morning and Mr. Feltsman nodded along as they went through the chorus songs for the _Vampyr._

"Good!" He finally called, "Good, you all, good for today!" Then he cleared his throat. "I try out next Thursday for the _Undine_. The one by Hoffmann. The decent one."

"Always encouraging to know his tastes, eh?" Andreas joked.

"Two baritone roles are open. You want one, prepare and sing." He shot a glare around. "That all."

They were dismissed into the Saturday noon and – depending on their schedule – the remainder of the day.

"So, you gonna try out?" Thomas asked.

Andreas shrugged. "Might as well. At least here you actually stand a chance to get the spot, unlike in Leipzig. You guys? Johannes?"

"No." Johannes shook his head. "I'll pass on this one and..." He sighed. "Now might be as good a time as any. I had a talk with Mr. Feltsman the other day. I'll be on leave for a while from the middle of July."

Around Yuuri swelled a chorus of "What?!" and "Why?!" and heard his own voice among the others, more on the "What" side rather than "Why?".

"Family business," he said. "I'll be out of town for a bit and come back once it's cleared up, I promise. But that might take some time."

"What did Mr. Feltsman say?" Alexander asked.

"He wasn't thrilled, of course." Johannes sighed again. "But he agreed to let me go by then and that I can come back to my spot without trouble when the whole thing is sorted out."

There hung a bit of silence between them and finally Andreas sighed, "Well, well, at least we know who's paying up the rounds tonight."

"Hey!" Johannes protested, "You think I'm swimming in money or what?!" But he was laughing, relief etching his features. "One round!"

"Fair enough," Alexander. "Yuuri, don't you dare ditching us tonight!"

"Wouldn't dream of it," Yuuri retorted, truthful enough.

"Yes, he's back!" Andreas clapped his back. "And here we were starting to worry that your girl was sucking you dry."

Briefly an image related, but quite different from that suggestion flashed before Yuuri's eyes, but he pushed it aside in an instant. "I assure you, no sucking of any kind or form is taking place with me," he said, bowing gravely much to Andreas amusement.

They parted ways for their personal businesses and Yuuri again wandered through the town, fetched himself a bite to eat before returning back to the theatre.

Coming home last night he had found a letter from Milan, but had been too tired to read it and just had taken it with him.

Now was as good a time to read it as any and around this time the foyer was empty and bright and the perfect spot to read a letter without someone sneaking up on him from the shadows. Not that he expected Viktor to sneak up on him from the shadows. Or even hoped for it. Not at all.

Celestino's cursive was always a welcome sight to his eyes, right now even more so.

 _My dear Yuuriccino,_

Yuuri smiled inwardly. One day Celestino would realize Yuuri wasn't ten anymore and that such a nickname might be adorable, but clearly not appropriate. Then again, he had mentioned that when he had turned nineteen. Celestino, laughing, had suddenly looked very serious and answered, "My boy, I've raised you. I washed you, I cleaned your soiled clothes, I tricked you into eating your carrots, I wiped your nose and even now I take care of you when you get frazzled again. I do think I have earned the privilege of addressing you by any name I see fit until the day I die. Are we clear?" He then had broken into a grin again and Yuri had dropped the topic.

Maybe he would bring it up again once he finally got a solo role.

 _Amazingly enough, Milan is still standing and in somewhat presentable condition without you here to calm me down when the current Primadonna is having a fit again. You are gone for three months now and your absence is still keenly felt. By your last letter, though, I am reassured that it was the right decision to send you to Dresden. It seems you are flourishing under Mr. Feltsman and if the occasion ever arises I will be looking forward to seeing you in Dresden._

So Celestino missed him. The thought made Yuuri smile. It was a nice sentiment and it brought back a few memories of Celestino blustering and fussing and hissing about whatever a lead singer had done, not done or demanded. Not to mention the times Yuuri had witnessed – with eyes and ears – how Celestino would get into a heated shouting match with one of the singers and how he at some point had felt compelled to do something to diffuse it, be it by breaking down crying as a child or coming in on some fictitious errand or to offer refreshments, lest their throats would go sore. Oh yes, it was a bit of a miracle that the Scala was still standing.

 _Most happy I am to hear you assessing yourself and your abilities in what seems to be a very confident, secure manner, gauging what you can do and when you need a break. Maybe I should have let you decide on this back here earlier. It might have helped you better than me deciding for and pushing you to work._

Undine _is a lovely work, albeit still too fantastic for my tastes. Trust the Germans to make fairies and elves into lovely, tragic maidens and spin tales around them. This will never cease to baffle me. However, I applaud your decision to not try out for the_ Vampyr _. Not only do I trust your own judgement regarding your performance abilities, I really do not think this work is worth your attention under any circumstances. If you ask me, this whole thing could do with one or two plots less and maybe a bit less romance._

Ah, yes. Being raised by Celestino Cialdini definitely had left its mark on Yuuri's judgement of music. Which was definitely not a bad thing.

 _(I am very aware of the irony of me petitioning for less romance, please stop laughing, my boy.)_

Yuuri quickly wiped the smile off his face.

 _I wish you good luck for the try-out._

 _Right now we are preparing to stage Rossini's_ Otello _and it is a bit of a hassle. Whenever Montagno has his aria, someone is bound to start meowing. Same happens when the duet with Iago is up. Sometimes I regret having ever introduced the_ Duettobuffo _to the Scala. Then again, the youngest members of the chorus are always so delighted to sing it. I suspect them to sometimes start their little feuds just to get a pretence for studying it._

Now Yuuri had to snort. Yes, the _Cats duet_ was a favourite of his, too, and who would blame him, really? Potentially, no singer who had worked at the Scala for any significant amount of time was unfamiliar with it and did not like it. It was just too damn funny.

Briefly Yuuri noticed that he actually had kept count on the times he had cussed this week. Was it just his imagination or was the number he could confess this week really significantly higher than it was usual for him?

 _It goes along well, but our Primadonna is giving me a headache. Again. I know that Sara Crispino is singing in Dresden in the Royal Court Theatre. She is singing with you and I know from reliable sources that she is a delightful, kind and very sweet woman, as well as a terrific voice. Please recommend the Scala and my person to her if you get the chance and ask her what conditions she would have to be employed here. I am very interested in hearing them and will do everything in my power to fulfill them._

Yuuri suspected that La Crispino would mainly demand good roles, salaries and housing to be provided both for her and for the promising young ingénue of Mila Babitch. Good salaries were potentially optional.

 _Do well, my boy, and be well. Keep writing to me, for I hear from you far too rarely. Give your friends my regards and my thanks for taking you under their wings._

 _With lots of love,_

 _Celestino_

Smiling Yuuri tucked the letter away. It definitely had improved on his mood, enough to brave tonight's performance no matter what Viktor would or would not do.

After the try-out he would write back. Celestino was right to complain; Yuuri took up the pen not nearly often enough.

He could talk about his friends here, maybe Celestino would find amusement in the idolatry Andreas had for potatoes in all their shapes and forms. Maybe he could even talk about Viktor, as much as possible without revealing his unconventional habitation. It would certainly be nice to have someone to talk to without having to pretend the person he was talking about was some random girl.

Which left the question how Celestino would react to that titbit about his protégé, but Yuuri had an inkling that Celestino had his own ideas about why Yuuri had never shown much interest in any girl around them, his general shyness aside.

Maybe he would be fine with it. Or maybe not entirely fine, but maybe he could live with it.

Or maybe not.

Yuuri sighed. In any case, there was no point in beating around that particular bush as long as things with Viktor himself were so damn unclear.

It was time to get back anyway, back to where the shadows were and nooks and crannies in which people could hide and sneak up on some unsuspecting - or not - victim.

Time for Yuuri to be sneaked up on.

Like he had for the whole week, Viktor kept him waiting and it was almost time for Yuuri to change before he heard steps.

"There you are."

Viktor remained shrouded in shadow, but Yuuri could practically hear the sheepish smile in his voice.

"I wasn't entirely sure whether you still would want to see me."

"I guess I was quite mad yesterday." Yuuri couldn't help but sound equally sheepish. "You were right. I did need to sleep."

"Are you feeling better?"

"Yes. Thank you."

So now they each had spoken their apologies, albeit in a rather roundabout fashion. Did that mean that they were good with each other again? Was it really that simple?

He sighed inwardly. Would be too good.

"I think I should go now," he finally said, "will you listen tonight?"

"I always listen," Viktor answered. And then he asked, "Would you come a bit closer?"

Yuuri's heart leapt and he followed the request.

"And..." Viktor cleared his throat. "And if you would turn around?"

Now Yuuri's heart stopped it's current leap mid-air and hung there as he obeyed.

For a moment nothing happened and maybe he was being made fun of?

Then Viktor's hands fell on Yuuri's shoulders and he felt the pull back. And with this, Yuuri's world ever so slightly fell back into place.

"You were slouching again." His voice had that soft, gentle lilt again, that flowed down Yuuri's spine like warm honey. "Don't do that to yourself."

"No. Thank you." Yuuri let out a breath. "I am fine now."

"I'm looking forward to hear you. Have fun and work hard." With that Viktor withdrew his hands and then moved back into the shadows.

It had the strange effect of Yuuri actually feeling somewhat lost, but it was alright. In a way it was a good kind of feeling lost, the kind of missing something that one knew existed and was supposed to be where its absence was so keenly felt.

Yuuri could deal with that and with head and shoulders high, he left to get ready.

Johannes was true to his word and paid up for one round of sharp, eye-watering peppermint liquor that had Yuuri cough after only one sip and refuse to drink anything else that evening, the occasional sip on his godawful beer notwithstanding, to keep his throat from drying out.

"So, no wedding for sure?" Yuuri asked as they parted ways. Yuuri had turned back towards the theatre almost on instinct when Johannes had gone that direction. Looking up there the building was entirely dark, not even the slightest hint of light came from any of the attic windows.

"No. We might get him to pay some small pension or invest into something for the child. If we don't contact him any further, that is. Johanna is…" Johannes sighed.

"Not amused?" Yuuri tried to help out.

"Furious would be a better description if she was more prone to outbursts." He made a face. "I think it would be better if she was. Instead she… well, you have met her. I'm sorry. I know she's rude."

"She's under stress."

"That doesn't mean she can go around and plisetsky all over the place," Johannes argued. "Nobody should plisetsky all over the place, not even Plisetsky, but well…"

"He's Plisetsky," Yuuri nodded. But the boy could be so different sometimes. Occasionally Yuuri could even suspect that Plisetsky actually liked him. And he clearly liked Viktor, brash as he might act towards him.

He would have liked to see that side more often.

"So what you gonna do?" he asked.

"Eleonora has a small estate in the countryside. Only a few hours away from Dresden with a good coach and a bit further up north you're in Brandenburg already. It's nice. I've been there before. It neighbours a small village. Large park, nice forests and riversides around it. And the church looks nice. Johanna can give birth in peace there. Hopefully find some as well." He swallowed. "In case we don't find a husband for her, Eleonora would take it in."

That sounded possibly idyllic. It would certainly keep both mother and child out of immediate trouble.

"She must really like you," Yuuri remarked.

"She still is not thrilled about the pregnancy or how it came about. Johanna was too naive. And maybe she was, but…"

Yuuri shook his head. "It's not her fault that someone took advantage of her."

"She should have known. There's innocence and then there's just straight-up silliness. Thinking that a rich nobleman would marry her, just because he said so and because he slept with her..." Johannes rubbed his face.

"You don't believe that yourself," Yuuri pointed out. "You don't blame her and you know it."

"No! Yes! I don't. I just... I just wish she had not simply believed him." Johannes sighed. "People in love are crazy. All they do is stupid stuff."

"Yeah, tell me about it." Yuuri sighed. "Like adopting the illegitimate child of the sister of their protegé."

Johannes shrugged. "Well, Eleonora did want a child from me, but that's of course not possible right now." Even in the darkness Yuuri could see him blush. "I mean, it's not like I could just marry her and her getting pregnant without husband – widow or not, imagine the scandal."

"Would you marry her if you could?" Yuuri asked.

Again, there was a far too nonchalant to be honest shrug from Johannes. "I never thought about it, because – really, no reason why I should have. There'd have to happen a lot before I could marry her, I mean..." But still, he tilted his head. "I think, yes, actually. She's headstrong and knows her way around. I like that. And..." Now his shrug was very insecure and very genuine. "I think living with her out in the countryside would help me answer that question."

"I will miss you, though," Yuuri mumbled. Johannes, along with Georgi, had been one of the first people who had been friendly and open to him and one of the few friends Yuuri had been able to make in his life.

"I'll miss you too." Johannes wrapped his arms around Yuuri's shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug. "And honestly, I do worry a bit about you. Will you be alright?"

This had Yuuri laugh. "Please, I think I can deal with our idiots just fine. And if not I can write to you and complain about them, so you can always share into my suffering."

Johannes chuckled. "Sounds about right. So, you will write me?"

"Once you give me your address – and I just realized that we're talking like you'll be leaving tomorrow instead of in two months." Yuuri patted his back and then pulled away. "But in all seriousness, yes, I will write you."

"You better." Johannes now let go of him. "In any case, it's late and you have to walk back home. See you on Monday."

"See you Monday. Good night." They parted ways and Yuuri wandered back to the boarding house, had himself let in – bracing himself for the tongue-clucking of the gate keeper that doubtlessly would ensue as soon as he saw his face and realized that The Oriental had been out late again.

Two months. Yuuri sighed. Well, at least he had time to get used to the thought of not seeing Johannes again every day. Well, he dreaded that prospect far less than he had dreaded leaving Milan, but he could still see a hole in his life where Johannes still was and soon would not be anymore.

Maybe because when he had left Milan he had not known what would await him. Maybe he would not have been as terrified if he had. With Johannes – Yuuri would miss him, definitely, but his world was not being turned inside out again. And Johannes would come back, after all. It would be alright.

On Sunday he confessed the exact amount of times he had cursed, both in thoughts and words, and the priest, somewhat less bored than usual for him, asked, "How come you know the exact number of times you have cursed and cussed this week?"

"I kept count."

"And why, my son, would you do this?" Now the priest sounded equal parts flummoxed and intrigued.

Yuuri shrugged. "Well, I noticed that I had cussed a lot and wanted to keep track. Maybe so I could tone it down. I don't like cursing and I prefer to not do it myself, so..."

"So there has to be a reason for you to use foul language, I take?"

"I think so, yes." Scratch that, there was a reason and the reason was a baritone with pale hair and a tendency to act and behave in ways Yuuri found frustratingly confusing.

"Now, my son, would it not be wiser for you to focus on what causes you to use and think in foul language, instead of the foul language itself?"

"Oh, I do think so." Yuuri sighed. "I do, father, but it has something to do with another person and I do not think myself in the position or blessed with the ability to change the way people act towards me."

"Is it many people that frustrate you?" The priest asked, "Or is it only one?"

"Only one." Thank goodness, if any more people around him were like Viktor Yuuri would have grabbed all his stuff and headed off straight back to Milan, no matter what Celestino had said about him suddenly showing up again.

"Well then, my son, if it had been many people the problem would have been you. In that case you would possess the power to make a change. However, in this case, the question would be why the person is so infuriating and why you let it affect you so much."

Yuuri stared down at his hands an was very glad that the priest could only vaguely see his face through the screen and the darkness. Yuuri would have loathed for him to see how warm his cheeks had grown. "Well, it is someone very dear to me and I thought we were somewhat close. However, this person suddenly acts rather distant and wont tell me why or even if I did something to give offence – or rather, apparently I did not, but I still think I did. Just that now apparently silence is in order to spare my feelings. Or so I guess."

The priest sighed. "If this person is angry with you enough to change their behaviour, I wonder why you think they would do something to spare your feelings."

"I don't know." Yuuri shrugged. "Right now I am rather confused. I am very close to giving up guessing. It is a rather frustrating prospect to do so, though, I have to admit."

"I see."

Yuuri heard a soft rustle of fabric against fabric and from the side saw a slow movement of long-suffering exhaustion as the priest rubbed his eyes.

"Well, my son, the best advise I can give is to wait and see and be open for a talk without forcing it to happen. Doing so would only lead to more pain and more foul language. And as we are at that – two Paternoster." After a moment of silence the priest added, "And if you do even one more I will not hear your confession next Sunday."

"Yes, Father."

Yuuri saw the movement of the priest making a cross.

"Now go and sin no more."

Yuuri left the confessional, prayed his Paternosters in front of the High Altar and left a small donation in the box.

His Sunday was free, perfect for him to enjoy the hot afternoon sun and mull about it.

Well, of course he would have to wait for Viktor to tell him what was the matter. Forcing a conversation to happen had not worked, after all, and had only served to cause them both unnecessary anger and Yuuri stress.

But how to show he was open for a conversation?

Yuuri sighed. Now that was something worth being frustrated about.

Monday rolled around and since tonight's performance was Goethe, rather than one opera or the other, Yuuri had the afternoon and even the evening to his free disposal.

He had gotten himself a bite for lunch and then, after a quick berth through a small used book store he returned to the theatre, two new books in his pocket and sneaked to the basement. There he squatted down in his corner next to the case that contained Viktor's violin and protected it from dust and moisture.

And then he waited.

Unlike before any performance during the last week, Viktor did not let him wait. Yuuri had not even waited for half an hour, leafing through an edition of Goethe's Faust he had found for cheap. It was amusing enough and Yuuri certainly didn't complain about it being an entertaining way to improve his German. Mephistopheles was a rather funny role and if this particular text would find music put to it, he could very well imagine Andreas playing him, along with Alexander or Thomas as Faust and Johannes as Faust's assistant and friend Wagner.

 _O happy the man who still can hope Though drowned in a sea of error!_ Faust just sighed, wandering with his friend through the fresh, lively landscape of an Easter Sunday. _Man needs the things he doesn't know, What he knows is useless, forever. But don't let such despondency Spoil the deep goodness of the hour!_

Steps fell and Yuuri's gaze rose to meet Viktor's. "Hello."

"Hello. Have you been waiting long?"

It was probably the most awkward greeting they had ever exchanged, maybe save for their first. Yuuri still smiled. "Not really. I had something to pass the time." He held up his book.

Viktor smiled. "They are staging the first part tonight."

Yuuri shrugged. "I didn't pay attention to which play they are staging."

Viktor bent over to take a closer look at the books. "You've read this one a lot, I guess?"

"Not really. I read an Italian translation of it as a boy, but this is the first time I am going through it in German." Yuuri ran a finger over a page that was already soft and slightly frazzled around the edges. "Bought it today."

"I never got around reading it," Viktor confessed. "Or sitting through the second part of the whole thing, it's just so..." He made a face.

"Classical? Regulated?" Yuuri offered dryly while getting up.

"Not like the first part. That one is a delight to read or watch, but – no, the second part is not doing it for me." Viktor led him to the door and they ushered into the corridor.

"I kind of like it. Changing things from within set boundaries and in the process changing the boundaries itself? Why not?"

"In order to change things one would have to completely break them down and rebuild from the ashes," Viktor argued. "If you leave any part of the old alive it will creep up again. It's like a weed in that regard."

They entered the darkness.

"And how would you make sure people will not commit to even worse than what has happened before?" Yuuri took Viktor's hand without even thinking about it and without hesitation Viktor's fingers closed around his.

"Eh, I guess there's one thing or another to figure out. Didn't say it had to be perfect from hour one." Viktor shrugged, Yuuri felt it through his arm and hand ripple up and seep into his own body. "But humanity has the talent to recognize what is good for both the whole society and the individuals. And after a while they will find the proper measures to negotiate."

"They've found it a long time ago. Clean off some clog and you are good to go. The basics are always the same."

"Then the boundaries are what needs to be smashed?" Viktor asked.

Yuuri shook his head, despite Viktor not being able to see it. "Too much danger for anarchy and even worse conditions and circumstances in my book."

They reached the steep part and the only warning Viktor gave was a gentle squeeze of Yuuri's hand. It was enough and Yuuri easily passed the area.

"You probably don't even need a guide any more to come down to my place," Viktor chuckled. "You know the way as well as Yura."

"Maybe." Yuuri summoned all the bravery he had for the next few words. "But I do rather like being fetched by you, you know."

"Oh." Viktor's voice was smiling the sort of nondescript, easy smile Yuuri saw occasionally on the Crispino or Johannes Erhardt or even Yuri Plisetsky when they were talking to patrons of the opera. "Well, I guess it's a good thing I get to fetch you then."

"Yes. Yes, a very good thing." Inwardly, Yuuri wanted to slap himself.

They arrived at Viktor's cave and Yuuri watched him as he wandered around, lightening the candles spread through his lair.

"Since the try-outs are coming up, I think we should focus on your baritone and how to put a little more strength behind it."

"Sounds like a good idea. I do feel a little on the weak side with the Heilmann role, to be honest."

Viktor shook his head vehemently. "Oh, no, no you are just fine, really." If he sounded a bit too rushed Yuuri elected to neither comment nor did he try to think of it too much.

"Let's get started then?"

Yuuri nodded and began to do breath exercises and to warm up his voice while Viktor finished lighting up his lair and then proceeded to check and then tune his violin for potential damages.

Yuuri blew some more raspberries while Viktor was busy tuning, lest any of them would be distracted by the sounds the other produced.

"All tuned, I'm done," Viktor announced and Yuuri went on to sing a few harmonies before breathing in and out a few times. Then he let out a soft breath, alone at first, before a tone carried on it, softly, lightly, translucent and then growing stronger and louder, filling the air for a moment before he took it back in.

The moment the sound had fallen asleep at last Yuuri took a deep breath. "Help..."

Viktor chuckled. "You know, if you did not always draw out this exercise for so long you would not almost suffocate on it."

"Yes, but I can draw it out longer now than I used to, so apparently the risk of suffocation is greatly reduced," Yuuri argued before taking another breath and repeated it with a lower note.

He wobbled there, but went through it.

"Hm, trouble with the lower notes again." Viktor clucked his tongue. "How's the high end of your range?"

Yuuri made a face. "Worse, as always. I sometimes wonder why I wasn't trained just as a baritone instead of this half-baked... thing."

"You have a large voice range. It would be a shame not to utilize it." Viktor waved a finger. "If I ever have the chance to meet your guardian, remind me to bring him a gift to declare my gratitude for how he has brought you up."

"The Holy Virgin may help and protect me if this day ever comes," Yuuri sighed and took another breath.

The high note came out clear and steady, but thin and without much substance. Not a good day for him.

Viktor listened to him intensely and then lifted the violin.

Yuuri heard him picking up the note and developing it into a tune he recognized. More than two months in Germany had been more than enough to have him know several of their favourite songs.

"Sah ein Knab ein Röslein stehn, Röslein auf der Heiden," he fell in, "war so jung und war so schön, lief er schnell es nah zu seh'n, sah's mit vielen Freuden, Röslein, Röslein, Röslein rot, Röslein auf der Heiden!"

The three verses spun a dialogue between a boy who admired a beautiful rose in the field and wished to pluck it and said rose threatening to sting him with her thorns. It culminated in the boy plucking the rose and a remark that all her struggle did not prevent her from suffering.

"Another work by Goethe," Yuuri commented. "I sense a theme for the day."

Viktor shrugged. "It was the first thing that came to my mind. You could make use of your voice range and it has a lovely melody. A beautiful sounding text as well, although I do have to wonder how that old geezer treated the women in his life."

"He had quite many of them. Says quite a bit, if you ask me." Yuuri shook his head. "Alright, I am ready. Can we start?"

"Just a moment." Carefully setting the violin on his desk Viktor came closer and then stepped behind Yuuri.

Then he asked, "Do... do you mind if..."

What? Yuuri was too surprised to ask what Viktor wanted to do and he just shook his head.

After another moment of pause, Viktor placed his hands on Yuuri's shoulders and pulled them back gently. "Alright. We can start now." He let go of Yuuri and then went a few steps away from him again, picking up his violin. "Let's get busy, shall we?"

"We shall."

Viktor started playing and Yuuri took a breath, held it and then set in. "Nun segne euch, der einzig segnen kann..."

He went through the parts sung by Pater Heilman, listened to the criticisms and corrections Viktor had to offer and started over again.

"Drop your voice to your stomach," Viktor said, reaching out and then pausing. "Uh, do you mind, if I..."

"Go ahead," Yuuri mumbled and tried very hard to continue breathing properly when Viktor's hand landed on his stomach.

"Have the tone come from down here." Viktor said. "You get it right pretty often, but maybe you need some help to focus yourself. Sing again."

Yuuri did, keenly aware of the hand on his stomach and the warmth spreading from it.

He was also aware of how Viktor had asked. He never before had asked permission. This had been quite confusing in the beginning, but as things were now, as they had developed and grown between them, it was almost as bad a rejection as him acting all casual and nonchalantly polite.

Nonetheless, he sang through his part, and sang well, and Viktor was pleased with him.

Yuuri left in the early evening, half content with his progress, half miffed with the way Viktor was acting towards him.

The next day he was not the only miffed person in the theatre, though, even though in all fairness, Yuuri could not remember a day when Yuuri Plisetsky had ever shown them anything but a somewhat grumpy mood.

By now Yuuri was so used to it that it had almost completely disappeared into the background and he went about his business of singing and managed to give him a friendly nod. In return, he was shot a long, dark look, the meaning of which Yuuri could not fully discern. It was of little worry to him.

When he and the other chorus singers went on stage, they were in for a little surprise.

Next to Mr. Feltsman in his chair sat a few other people in fine clothing, none of them looking terribly official, though.

Yuuri recognized both the Free Lady Poellchau and - he smiled and nodded a greeting - Phichit.

He had a folio in his lap and was smiling up to them, as Yuuri nodded to him.

"We got visitors," Mr. Feltsman rumbled. "You don't do bad! Do good!"

"Yessir!" Georgi bellowed from the piano."

"Yes," they all agreed, "Yes, yes, will do good."

"You all warm? Good. We start with _Vampyr_ today!"

Around Yuuri there was a slight, discontent muttering; none of them were particularly fond of this mess.

Nonetheless, they began to sing the whisper hisses of the song and Yuuri watched as Phichit started to pull out a pencil and flap through his folio.

"Lichtscheu in der Mitternacht, Wenn nur Angst und Bosheit wacht, Schleichen wir beim Mondenschein in die finstre Kluft hinein," they sang, with Mr. Feltsman nodding along. "Ihr Hexen und Geister schlingt fröhlich den Reihn, bald wird unser Meister hier bei uns sein, hier bei uns sein! Kommt und schliesst den muntern Reihn, Eul' und Uhu, ihr sollt schrein, Joho, joho, joho! - Joho, joho, joho! - Heissa, heissa, heissa, joho!"

He did not complain with a single breath, but his eyebrow twitched. He had found something they would have to work on, but he would not embarrass himself or them by pointing it out in front of their visitors, who were were very likely looking for a young, promising singer to sponsor on their way to fame and fortune. No way he would have any of them look bad.

Nonetheless, he would not let them off without any criticism or any work on that.

And true enough, when they finished with the last "Dort nahet der Meister Im falben Feuerschein!" Mr. Feltsman rose from his chair and clapped his hands. "Fine, fine, fine, yes, fine, but too weak in the mid-section. Tenors, you need to breathe more! Breathe! You hear me, breathe!"

There was a general chuckle running through the baritones.

"And you! Softer!" He called at them. "Again from top!"

Georgi saluted sharply, jammed on the piano keys and they began again.

Phichit paused in his work and looked up. Then he started again while they sang and he was smiling and gave them a little wave.

After having finished this time they went on to the other pieces of chorus singing for the _Vampyr_ , listened to what Mr. Feltsman had to criticize about them and then went through it again.

The Free Lady Poellchau blinked and clenched her jaw, as if to stifle a yawn.

A man next to her did not show so much decorum. Yuuri wondered what he was expecting a regular rehearsal for the chorus singers to be like.

Mr. Feltsman turned around to him. "Yes, yes. Rehearsal. Not interesting. Too good, my singers. Too little reason to yell."

At least the man had the decency to blush at that callout.

The Free Lady Poellchau nodded. "Well, it is rather technical. Maybe one should come and see the dress rehearsals, instead."

"Bah!" Phichit commented, waving around his pencil. "I prefer this. The dress rehearsals are already so well-polished and put together, but this, this is the process of putting them together, this is where the real hard work is done and work can not be done when there is shouting and disagreement!" The sing-song of his speech increased a fair bit. "Also, I do quite like singers being supported and coaxed to flourish rather than see them yelled into submission."

The man who had yawned shot him a sidelong glance. "Well, Mr. Chula, it is obvious that you do not value someone like Mr. Wagner and his musical influence on us."

"Yes," Phichit hummed, cheerfully looking up to the singers on the stage and then back on his paper. "My good sir, you must allow everyone to have their own opinions and tastes, right? And how would you expect me to enjoy a musician so utterly German when sometimes I have still trouble understanding your people themselves?"

The man sighed. "You should spend less time in France or England, my lad," he then conceded. "You would be much happier to lavish your whole attention on Germany."

"For now, please lavish attentions on the singers," Mr. Feltsman grumbled, "rather than distracting them and take their attention away from their work."

"Of course." Phichit smiled. "How could one not lavish them with attention! Look at them, are they not splendid, a potential future for the opera scene in the German countries, possibly Europe, what a delight!"

"You are not interested in their potential," the Free Lady Poellchau commented dryly. "You are interested in sketching and painting them, admit it."

Phichit laughed.

"Silence, please!" Mr. Feltsman called again. "Georgi, since someone declared Mr. Wagner to be so all important, play us something. The _Tannhäuser_ , if you please. The first chorus piece! _Zu dir wall' ich, mein Jesus Christ_!"

Georgi nodded and began the rather slow, gentle and dignified melody.

"Zu dir wall' ich, mein Jesus Christ, der du des Sünders Hoffnung bist! Gelobt sei, Jungfrau süss und rein, der Wallfahrt wolle günstig sein!"

Melody and text were certainly vaguely familiar to Yuuri, but that was probably due to the fact of it sounding like almost any other church song he had ever heard, both in text and in melody. And someone as famous as Wagner would never have dared to risk his reputation by ripping his music from somewhere else, right?

Then again, Yuuri himself loved the _Cats duet_ and God knew this hadn't been put together by Rossini himself.

"Ach, schwer drückt mich der Sünden Last, kann länger sie nicht mehr ertragen; drum will ich auch nicht Ruh noch Rast, und wähle gern mir Müh' und Plagen."

Their small audience had actually fallen into something like a reverential trance. The Free Lady Poellchau made a cross. Interesting.

"Am hohen Fest der Gnadenhuld in Demut sühn' ich meine Schuld; gesegnet, wer im Glauben treu: er wird erlöst durch Buss' und Reu'."

It was an interesting experience to sing something like that. Very liturgical, a German text which for Yuuri automatically meant Protestantism (just like Latin meant Catholicism to him) and with an equally Protestant degree of dust licking piety, all the while expressing a rather Catholic view.

If Richard Wagner had written the libretto himself, Yuuri was somewhat inclined to feel something like respect for him. That was, if this was an intentional mix-up of confessional nit-picks. If not, Yuuri would happily continue to mildly suspect him to cobble his music together from outside sources.

"Now that was lovely!" A woman in a rather frilly, pale yellow dress exclaimed. "How wonderful, really, why do you not sing in churches more often?"

Mr. Feltsman nodded up to them. "Acceptable. I talk later to you."

Johannes made a face. "I messed up the glissandi again and now I wont hear the end of it, what do you bet?"

"I don't bet if the answer's clear," Yuuri answered, chuckling.

"We do not sing in churches because we are theatre singers," Mr. Feltsman explained. "Theatre. Not church."

"But would it not be nice, listening to them on Sunday?" Yellow Frills continued.

Mr. Feltsman took a deep breath that spoke of long suffering. "On Sunday we not get paid. Singers are free on Sunday and would like to listen to services and sermons and rest."

The man next to Phichit made a face. "Ha. I knew it was about money."

"Well, if they sing in a church, they can also enjoy the service," Yellow Frills tried to defend her idea.

"Some Lutheran. Some Catholic. Some Orthodox. Some not Christian," Mr. Feltsman answered, his accent growing thicker by the word. "Leave matters to me. Enjoy music. If you like listening, sponsor one to have sing for you. All of them very happy about that. Alright!" He turned back around to them. "Wagner done. Back to actual work!" He took a deep breath.

The man next to Phichit opened his mouth as if to protest on behalf of Wagner's music but Mr. Feltsman continued: " _Wildschütz_. Now. From top. Georgi!"

Again the man gave a sharp salute, grinning before he started playing again.

By now Yuuri's body associated the music automatically with this stupid dance and he straightened his back and lifted his arms.

At least he was not the only one. Andreas lowered his hands, smiling sheepishly and Thomas still had his feet poised for the first dance steps.

They all chuckled and it carried over into their singing and Mr. Feltsman called, "Stop! Again! Concentration, men, work here, laugh later!"

Georgi started playing again and this time they sang properly, despite the fact that their legs and backs and arms still fell into the positions that led into the dance.

"So munter und fröhlich wie heute, Beim Tanze, beim Weine."

Mr. Feltsman nodded, but his brow was slightly furrowed. Something was not to his liking. Probably he still did not find them energetic enough.

They finished off on "Und möge sein Ehestand eben - So heiter und fröhlich sein" and watched as Mr. Feltsman wandered up and down before the stage.

"More energy. Wedding shower, more fun!", he demanded – no surprise here. "Katsuki, work on your higher notes! Again!"

And so they sang again.

Their audience listened and nodded and smiled.

And finally got up and left. Yuuri could see Mr. Feltsman breathe a sigh of relief. "Good. Tomorrow try-out! Who wants stays after rehearsal!"

"Oh, how interesting!", Free Lady Poellchau cheered. "Tomorrow, you say? Would you allow us to be here for this as well?"

Mr. Feltsman made a face as if he had bitten down on something awfully sour. Yuuri could emphasize. The prospect of the try-out itself was daunting, to say the least. His mind already threatened to go blank at the prospect. An audience to go with it? That sounded just perfect for him. Not.

Mr. Feltsman let his gaze wander over them, then over his singers.

"Not good," he then said. "Singers are picked by me for singing because they sing. You pick singers for sponsoring because I don't know why. Keep doing it. Is good. But singing is decided by me."

"Well, nobody argues with that," the Free Lady Poellchau argued, but Mr. Feltsman shot her a look and with that, her up.

"Well then. You free for now." He made a short shooing motion for them to leave the stage.

"Damn," Thomas sighed, "That would be a chance to snatch a sponsor."

"Yeah, this happened often when Mr. Wagner was still here," Andreas agreed. "But at some point, these folks always start to think that they have some input in the casting for a production. It can get pretty annoying, especially when the soloists are at each other's throats already."

"Leipzig," Alexander nodded gravely. "In comparison, whatever happens here is tame."

"Regale us with your tales next time we're out for dinner, yes?" Johannes grinned.

With a slight drop in his stomach Yuuri noticed Plisetsky leaning against a beam and staring at him. His stomach dropped even further when Plisetsky gestured for him to stay and wait up for him before he came closer.

From the corner of his eye Yuuri noticed Phichit coming closer as well.

Plisetsky seemed to have noticed him too, since he lowered his voice and leaned in closer to Yuuri. "Alright, whatever you two have a beef about with each other, stop it, it's damn annoying!"

Yuuri blinked at him. "What?"

"He's moping! You've ever had to bear with him when he's moping? No? Good for you! Because _I_ have and I _am_ and _you_ are to blame and – have you looked in a mirror recently?!"

Yuuri raised an eyebrow. "I actually was under the impression that you were not overly interested in what is going on between me and Viktor."

"Well, yes, yeah. Sure." Plisetsky nodded. "But only as long as there is something going on, because when there's nothing, he's unbearable. Fix it. I don't care what you do, just fix it."

Briefly Yuuri wondered what would happen if he refused. Plisetsky definitely could not demand him to do something he did not want and if that happened to be solely responsible for Viktor being not annoying to him, then he was out of luck, obviously. Not to mention that this was very much not Yuuri's fault.

Plisetsky sighed. "Alright. Fine. Do what you want. Mope around, hell if I care!" he threw his hands up and turned around to stomp away.

Yuuri blinked and then realized that Phichit was still standing there, smiling politely and apparently waiting to be acknowledged.

He quickly nodded a greeting and came over to him. "Hello and how nice to see you and..." This was getting awkward. "And I hope you didn't have to wait too long?"

Phichit smiled and shook his head. "Oh no, not really. If anything I got a good view of Mr. Plisetsky being all angry and put out. Crinkled nose and such." He opened his folio for Yuuri to look at. "Very fun to draw."

Indeed, the first thing that Yuuri saw was a very rough, very quick sketch that was still unmistakably Yuri Plisetsky in sharp and angry profile. Not very detailed, but the way he threw back his head and his supposed-to-be-intimidating sneer were spot on.

"You've been here to sketch?" Yuuri chuckled. "May I?"

"Sure, by all means!" Phichit beamed at him. "I am not in any way a professional artist, it is more of a past-time of me."

"But these are good!" Yuuri smiled, looking at a a bit more detailed portrait of Mr. Feltsman listening to his chorus sing.

Said chorus was rather detailed on another page. Phichit smiled. "You were all standing still for most of the time, much to my delight."

Yuuri noticed his own face next to Johannes and behind Andreas. Did he really smile like that when singing?

"These are really good. Not that I know much about art," Yuuri admitted, "but they look good to me."

"I do not know much about music, but you sound good to me too," Phichit replied. "Mr. Feltsman seems to work hard with you. You were not exaggerating when praising his influence on you all."

"Do you only sketch?" Yuuri asked, handing him his folio back.

"Occasionally I also make use of the paint brush, but usually only when I am in London." Phichit smiled ruefully. "Sadly any quarters I occupy elsewhere do not provide the space or the light."

"Yes, too bad indeed," Yuuri agreed.

"But then again if things were any different I would probably spend my days painting rather than taking care of business and if that happened, I would be summoned back home faster than you could order a cup of coffee. Can't have that." He shrugged, still smiling brightly. "As things are right now they work out just fine." He dug through his pockets and found a golden watch, inlaid with mother of pearl and shimmering red enamel.

"Too bad," he sighed, "I have an appointment with one of our business partners in a bit. It was a pleasure to talk to you again." He offered his hand to Yuuri, who took it.

"The pleasure was all mine," he answered honestly. Talking with Phichit was extraordinarily easy.

"Well then, if you partake in this try-out tomorrow, I cross my fingers for you. Rest well until then and have a clear mind."

Yuuri nodded. "Thank you. A good day to you."

Phichit waved as he turned around and left Yuuri to his own thoughts.

Well, true. He would most definitely need a clear mind tomorrow.

Only one way to get it.

He turned back towards the stage where the soloists of the _Vampyr_ were already singing through their parts, Mila Babitch clearly aghast at the sheer stupidity of her character. Same was probably true for Plisetsky, but what else was new?

He had a moment's break, listening to Mila's Janthe, singing of her love for the mysterious Ruthwen to the mysterious Ruthwen himself – who would soon kill her, because apparently that was what a vampyr did. Not that Yuuri knew much about, what a vampyr in general did, nor did he care to find out.

On stage, Ruthwen finished his verse. "Ja, Teure, dein bin ich auf ewig, Und ewig, Teure, bist du mein!"

Mila Babitch rolled her eyes, but when she sang, her voice was sweet and clear and shivering with either longing or fear. "Als du dich zuerst mir nahtest, Bebte ich entsetzt zurück."

Yuuri spotted Plisetsky leaning against a beam and listening intently, as Ruthwen continued to woo his poor, innocent and only vaguely suspicious victim. "Weiss wohl, Liebchen, dass du's tatest, Doch jetzt lächelt mir dein Blick."

"Als du dich zuerst mir nahtest, Bebte ich entsetzt zurück!" Mila Babitch sang as Plisetsky looked to Yuuri.

"Still here?"

"I..." Yuuri swallowed back a gush of words that was still unformed and unclear and he as well listened to the young, fair soprano floating over their heads.

"Aber wie mit Zaubersbanden Zog es später mich zu dir. - Ja, ich folg' dem innern Drange."

"He's around I take it?" he finally managed to ask.

"Meinem Herzen folge ich." Mia Babitch sighed.

"Yes."

Yuuri cleared his throat.

"Ewig, ewig ist er mein!"

"I'd like to talk to you tomorrow. Before the rehearsal. I'll be at the theatre early for this," Yuuri finally said.

"Liebe lacht aus seinen Augen, o wie glücklich werd' ich sein!" Mila Babitch cheered, unaware of her impending doom.

"Not like you could not say it now," Plisetsky commented.

Dear God, no, no, no, no, just no.

"I..." Yuuri shook his head. "I'll need to prepare that speech. Might need a night. Sorry for that." Again he sighed. "I tend to need some time for things like that."

Plisetsky seemed to ponder it for a moment and then he nodded. "Got it. Will be around, so keep close to the basement."

"Thank you. I'll leave you to your singing then."

"You do that." Plisetsky looked on to the stage, obviously waiting for his turn to get to work and Yuuri quickly slunk away.

Yes, this was good. Tomorrow, he would go on stage with a clear head.

Tomorrow he would clear up a lot more things than just his head.

Oh Yuuri…

In other news – I'm editing "Sing for me" into novel format, which is both very fun and occasionally very stressful and usually the reason my fingers are always red.

If you wanna keep updated, you can follow my writing side tumblr singformeofghostsandlove – if instead you are interested in commissions my main tumblr siberianchan has you covered and…

if you wanna support your local starving artist with a day job, I have a ko-fi page, you find the link in my profile.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Yuuri barely slept that night and of course his head was anything but clear when he arrived the theatre early in the morning, a good bit before Georgi or any other chorus singer.

Nonetheless the house was already awake, brimming and bustling with business and preparations for the day.

Yuuri wandered around backstage for a bit, lurking in the corridors where the dressing rooms were, wandering up and down.

"Morning." He turned around as Plisetsky came around a corner, staring at him in what had to be a new high point of annoyance.

Yuuri nodded a greeting. "Good morning."

Plisetsky looked him up and down. "You look like shit, you know that?"

"Didn't have too much sleep." He shrugged. "I feel alright, though."

"Alright enough for a try-out?"

"Guess so." Yuuri took a breath. "I'd like to have a talk."

"Not beating around the bush for once, huh? My dressing room." Plisetsky pointed over his shoulder to his door. "You gonna take long?"

"Don't think so, no." Suddenly Yuuri's mouth felt very dry as he turned around and headed towards the door. "Thank you."

"Eurgh," was Plisetsky's only comment to that, "just stop it with the drama! Or have it far away from me, can't stand that shit."

Somehow Yuuri sincerely doubted that, but he was in no mood to argue with him about it and simply went into the dressing room.

It was sparsely furnished, a large vanity containing several stage cosmetics, a small chaise lounge (accompanied by a small cabinet) and a closet, probably containing some costumes. A thick, green carpet silenced any step that might be taken here, while its rich dark hue caused the white furnishings to pop out in an almost garish contrast.

Viktor was standing there, leaning into a shadowed corner as Yuuri turned to him. "Good morning," he said as soon as the door was closed.

"Same to you." Yuuri swallowed. "Well, here we are."

"Here we are," Viktor agreed. A moment of silence stretched between them in which Yuuri's insides decided that it was a good time for them to start twisting and turning and churning. "Well, you wanted to talk to me?"

"Uh, yes, I do." Yuuri looked at him, all shrouded in shadow and drama. "I think I would prefer seeing your face for that."

"Would you now." But Viktor complied and came out of his corner until the lamplight hit his face.

Maybe insisting on Viktor coming out of the shadow had not been Yuuri's best idea. He had trouble not staring at him.

He was handsome as always, but his hair was a tangled mess and there were rather dark shadows under his eyes that betrayed a few nights too many without proper sleep and he was wearing proper black trousers, rather than his beloved stripes. They looked good on him, really good, and rather distractingly so.

"So?" Viktor asked and brought Yuuri back to reality.

He looked really tired.

"Yes. Yes, I…" Yuuri sighed. "I know that you said it was nothing, but I still think I did something to offend you and whatever it was I am truly sorry and…" He breathed out again. "I better tell you now or I'll take it with me and mess up and if you have an answer for me you better give it to me after the try-out, because otherwise I will be too mixed up to sing properly and we can't have that, right?"

"Alright." Viktor nodded. "So, what do you want to tell me?"

"I am very grateful for what you have done for me so far and how far you have brought me even in this short amount of time and…" Yuuri struggled for a moment to find the right words. "And if you wish to not tutor me any longer I can understand." Which was true, he would understand that very well. But that did not mean that the thought of Viktor no longer tutoring him did not hurt. Yuuri felt his mouth twitch.

"What is it, Yuuri?" Viktor came a step closer and Yuuri had to force himself to stay where he was, rather than go a step back. "Tell me, please." He was reaching out a hand towards him. It was at this moment when Yuuri decided that taking a step back was probably the best idea after all. Especially since it also brought closer to the door, increasing his chances of a quick escape once he had finished with what he had to say.

Viktor's one visible, good eye grew a bit wider and then he nodded and sighed. His hand fell to his side. "What is it?" he repeated again.

"As I said, you don't have to answer immediately, I'd actually rather you don't. I mean, there's enough time after the damn try-out."

"Is it that? Are you nervous about that?" Viktor smiled his smoothest, most non-committal smile. "You worked so hard. You are a good singer and you have a good shot. All you need is to stay somewhat calm."

Yuuri groaned. "I'm trying to, guess why I'm here! I'm in love with you." Well, he had planned for it to come out a bit different, but now it was too late and the words hung between them.

Viktor stared at him, smile slowly falling away. "What?"

Yuuri's ears grew hot. "I… I think I should go now." He groped around, searching for the door handle.

Viktor seemed to be in a minor state of shock as he came closer, reaching out.

He had to get out, really, really, he had to get out right away, right now, right now…

His hand finally found the handle. "I've got to go." With that he opened the door, slipped out and closed it again behind him.

It was out. He had said it.

Also he was still alive. Also his legs felt somewhat weak and his stomach had dissolved into a gelatinous mass that moved entirely on its own and without any regard for what he was doing.

A long, deep, heavy breath he hadn't known he had carried around escaped him. For some reason, his shoulders felt lighter as well. A lot lighter in fact.

Plisetsky stared at him. "You done now? Good! See you later. I'll watch the try-out!" With that he slipped himself into his dressing room and Yuuri slid towards the stage. His timing was good; he had been early enough for his talk with Viktor and to be there before anyone else would show up, but not too early for him to wait forever and get bored.

Johannes was the first to join him, grinning. "Hey, there you are!"

Yuuri lifted his hand and smiled at him. "Here I am and before you say anything, yes I know, I very obviously have not slept too well."

Johannes shrugged. "I've seen you in worse states. What, you want to be in the try-out?"

"Guess why I haven't slept so well." Yuuri rubbed his brow. "What about you?"

Johannes shook his head. "No tenor roles available - you have no idea how I envy you for your voice range." The headshake was followed by a shrug. "Wouldn't make sense, what with me leaving soon. Even if I got a part and was successful and gained some popularity, disappearing afterwards and then showing up again some time later is not exactly good for one's reputation."

Yuuri nodded. "I'll report on what new productions are announced and planned. The first thing you do when you come back is get to the next try-out and land yourself a solo, got it?"

Johannes laughed and threw him a salute. "Yessir!"

"That's only funny when Georgi does it," Yuuri chuckled.

The other singers trickled in one by one, they exchanged greetings and warmed up.

By the time Mr. Feltsman joined them, Yuuri's stomach had calmed down considerably and he sang through his parts with ease. The fact that there were no visitors present today who might comment or complain or hint at music wishes, did probably help as well.

The rehearsal went by in a blink and when the chorus had finished their last piece with "Dem Ewigen sei Preis und Dank! Ihm schalle unser Lobgesang!" Mr. Feltsman nodded, but his face was not entirely happy. "You all need to learn text better. Lot better! If you do not have the text tomorrow, I will be angry! Very angry!"

Yuuri had not faltered in his lines – his lessons with Viktor had drilled the words into his mind – but he had noticed some of his peers failing on occasion. Well, it happened, they had to memorize a lot and thus mix-ups could happen.

They all mumbled their apologies and their vow to do better next time and Mr. Feltsman looked at them with sharp, still not happy eyes. "Alright, then," he sighed. "Try-out for the _Undine_! Two tenor parts! Huldbrand and Pater Heilmann! If you wish to partake, stay! If not, leave. Or sit down here!" He gestured to the chairs around himself. "A moment break until other singers arrive!"

Most of the chorus left stage, but Yuuri, August, Andreas and a few others remained.

August shot him a dark look. "You actually wanna sing now?"

"I am not leaving the stage, am I?" Yuuri answered, smiling dryly. "So what may we conclude from my presence up here, rather than down there?"

"You should just leave this to some proper singers," August continued. "You'll screw up again anyways, why bother?"

"Sure about that?" Yuuri smiled as Sara Crispino, in company of Mila Babitch, Yuri Plisetsky and Johannes Erhardt came sauntering in, Sara and Mila in animated conversation with Johannes Erhardt and Plisetsky making his usual face.

When he spotted Yuuri, his eyes narrowed for a moment before he leaned against a beam at the side exit, joined by Johannes Erhardt and the two women.

"You sing for the roles?" Mr. Feltsman asked, looking at them and they all nodded. "Good. You all warm? If not, get warm."

Yuuri sang a few harmonies to get his voice warm and smooth and flexible again.

Andreas and August did the same and soon enough the group of soloists joined them as well.

If Yuuri heard correctly, Johannes Erhardt tried to get the melody for the Ode to the Joy started and made a bit of a face when nobody joined in.

"Good! That enough!" Mr. Feltsman called, holding a pencil stub and a small notebook in his hands now. "We do not have all day! Who first – Hermann, fine! What you got?"

August stretched and straightened before coming forth.

Yuuri watched him throw his head back.

"I will sing the part of Huldbrand!" he declared.

Yuuri saw Sara Crispino raise an eyebrow in what probably was friendly interest.

"Well, what will you start with?"

"The opening scene. I would like to present Huldbrand's part in solo."

"Alright then. Georgi, you heard it!"

"Yessir!" Georgi called from the piano before he started playing.

August waited patiently for the moment he could fall in.

Sara and Mila whispered to each other before Mila nodded and got and on stage, followed by Johannes Erhardt.

"Ach Undine, holde Kleine," August began to call out, "höre doch und komm ins Haus! Kehre wieder – Nachts im Haine wohnet Spuk und wilder Graus!"

Mr. Feltsman nodded softly to himself and the music, instead of progressing into the lines for the Fisherman's wife, repeated itself.

August cocked his head and looked around.

Johannes Erhardt smiled at him and opened his mouth to start singing the same lines again – it made sense, Yuuri thought. This first opening scene of Huldtbrandt and Undine's parents looking for the missing girl was an ensemble piece of three people and most of Huldtbrandt's lines were sung simultaneously by the fisherman as well.

They finished the lines and Mila Babitch sighed with motherly, affectionate resignation "Ja, die kenn ich! - Ganz alleine rennt sie fort und lacht euch aus. Eh gehorchen euch die Steine als ihr Köpfen wild und kraus!" As a soprano she was a bit too high for this alto role, but since the actual singer for this part apparently refused to wake up before ten in the morning they would have to make do with what they got.

"Alright, yeah." Mr. Feltsman waved before jotting down a few notes. "Sara!"

The Crispino came forth, smiling brightly.

August did no such thing, looking at her as if he had been tapped in the face with slightly more force than strictly necessary. The look suited him incredibly well, Yuuri found.

"Well, since you wish to play my husband, I think we should work on a love duet, right?" she chirped and either her sweet, sunny nature kept her oblivious to the look August gave her or she was aware of it, but had elected to ignore it. "The scene after Undine talks to Kühleborn and ignores his warnings against a human lover would be fine, right?"

August finally managed to swallow back whatever unkindness he had felt laying on his tongue and nodded. "Whatever you say, Donna Crispino."

"My, my, no need to be so formal." She chuckled. "Johannes, you be our Kühleborn then?"

Johannes Erhardt bowed gravely. "The reason I wished to be in this play is that whatever role I play, I get the immense pleasure of being your father figure, my dear, and as such being completely ignored and disrespected as such."

"How charming," Andreas mumbled to Yuuri. "Alright. Georgi, you heard it? I'll start on _So muss er stets bei mir bleiben_."

"Yes ma'am!" Georgi called and played away.

The Cripsino chuckled and then cheered, "So muss er stets bei mir bleiben auf der Insel ganz allein!"

Johannes Erhardt as Kühleborn furrowed his brow. "Ach Undine, armes Kind!"

"Still! Was soll das Klaggetöne!"

They sang through this bit of dialogue, glancing to August the whole time who still seemed to question his life choices.

"Horch!" The Crispino thrilled, "Er kommt, um mein zu bleiben, lass uns beide nun allein!"

"Hüte dich!" Johannes Erhardt tried once again to warn her, but was cut off with a, "Still!"

This was August's moment and he delivered. "Droh Gewässer nur und schwill!" he declared, "Dorther hört' ich ihre Töne, sei getrost, du holdes Kind!"

"Flüchtiger sind Menschensöhne," Johannes Erhardt warned once more, "als es Wind und Wellen sind!"

Finally, Undine sent her meddling, overprotective uncle away and was left alone with her human sweetheart who actually managed to look somewhat besotted with her.

"Was schau ich dort auf dem Felsenufer?" August sang and the Crispino answered, "Ja, ich bin es."

They had a sweet, tender moment of falling into each other's eyes which was disrupted by Johannes Erhardt and Mila Babitch briefly taking over the role of the chorus as a bunch of spirits tried to disrupt the peace.

Undine shooed them away and they were left alone again to sing to each other and pledge their everlasting love. Conveniently this went along with Huldbrand declaring Undine his true bride, rather than the noblewoman he had been engaged to marry before.

Yuuri could see Mila Babitch - who would play said noble bride - roll her eyes hard.

"Wie lieblich so zu plaudern," they then sang, "In stiller Nacht allein. Rings weh'n mit süßem Schaudern die Wasser und der Hain."

Admittedly, August's baritone was full and smooth and easy on the ear and he meshed well with the bright, crystal clear soprano the Crispino had. Yuuri could actually imagine them singing the whole thing together. Potentially, the necessity to work close together would abate some of August's dislike for her, at least if he was somewhat sensible and receptive to a kind, lovable person trying to get along with him.

"Und nahe blickt und nah entzückt geliebter Augen Schein!"

They finished and Sara smiled brightly at him. "Thank you very much." She even hinted at a curtsy.

August kept his face rather controlled. "I am thanking you for assisting me in this."

"Next!" Mr. Feltsman called and August made room for someone else.

Another Huldbrand. They sang through the same pieces and Mr. Feltsman made notes. This one joked a bit with Milan Babitch and seemed to be delighted to sing with the Crispino,

Sadly his voice did not share into the sentiment. He was thin in the high notes and his voice had a rather cold, metallic quality that threatened to choke off the Crispino in their duet.

He noticed himself and shook his head in disappointment when they finished.

"Great," Andreas muttered. "I got the same colouring in my voice. Might as well give up now."

"Don't you dare," Yuuri hissed back while another singer took the stage.

Now, his stomach decided, now was a good time to act up again and behave like inner organs were an unnecessary luxury that had to be gotten rid of.

Yuuri swallowed.

"Nerves?" Andreas asked with a sympathetic smile.

"Yes." He swallowed again. His mouth was awfully dry.

"You want time to calm down or do you want it to be over with?"

Yuuri thought about it for a moment. "Now," he then decided. "If I try to calm myself down it might get worse."

"That's our boy." Andreas chuckled and gave Yuuri a push that had him stumble forwards a bit as the other singer left the spot.

Mr. Feltsman cocked his head in an awfully familiar fashion. "Katsuki?"

"Yes. Yes," he answered quickly, heart drumming out a staccato that would hopefully not find it's way into his voice. "I am trying out for Pater Heilmann."

Now Mr. Feltsman furrowed his brow in what looked like an attempt at raising a single eyebrow. "Alright."

Yuuri's head started spinning. Not good. "You said Heilmann is sung in baritone this time, right?" Definitely not good.

"Did say," Mr. Feltsman agreed.

Why was he looking at Yuuri like that, as if he was silently pitying him?

Either that or he was silently requesting him to leave the stage in favour of other singers, who could actually sing.

Yuuri could sing, though. Very well even. He knew it. "Good," he said, "then I can sing it." There was no way he would let go the hard work to waste that he and Viktor put into this.

Mr. Feltsman did not look convinced at all.

And of course, now Yuuri's knees started to get wobbly. Perfect. He forced himself to breathe in and out again, in and out, in and out. He and Viktor had worked hard on training Yuuri's voice to reach the lows of Heilmann's part without fail, they had hammered the lines into his skull, they had spent so much time and effort on finding the right intonation for the words to deliver on his dignified, slightly distanced joy and later pain. This would not be for nothing.

He drew back his shoulders almost without realizing. "I'll start on _Euch segne der_. If anyone could assist me in the following scenes, I can go on longer. If not, I will find something else to sing."

Mr. Feltsman nodded. "Alright. Sara! Yuri, you think you can serve as a Huldbrandt for now?"

Plisetsky shrugged. "Eh. Can do."

"Well, thank goodness!" Mr. Feltsman sighed as they came standing next to Yuuri. Mila and Johannes Erhardt joined them.

"Georgi! Go ahead!"

Georgi gave them another sharp salute and then let his fingers smooth over the piano keys.

It was the same melody in the same key.

Yuuri could do this, he could sing this.

 _Euch segne der, der einzig segnen kann_ , was the line. How did it continue?

Georgi reached the point for Yuuri to start singing.

"Euch segne der, der einzig segnen kann," he began. His voice was calm. Good. How did it go on? "Mit besten Segen heut und immerdar, Und führe froh hinaus, was froh begann!" Ah, yes, this. "Nun küsst Euch beid, ihr seid ein bräutlich Paar!"

This was done then.

Plisetsky turned to them, managing to smile. As always, it could have been sweet and charming, but it looked just so _wrong._ "Musst ja nicht so scheu Süße Taub' erbeben. Hin fließt unser Leben nun in Lieb und Treu'!"

The Crispino beamed at him. "Tiefe Lieb' und Treu' Wie sie in mir leben," she sighed, all the blissfully blushing bride, "Neues höh'res Leben, freudig macht's doch scheu."

"Liebt uns auch nicht minder jetzt ihr frohen zwei," Johannes Erhard hummed with paternal happily and Mila joined in in. "Seid hübsch wirtlich, Kinder, das hält froh und frei."

Apparently Undine and Huldbrand were too enamoured with each other to hear that, which was shown by them repeating their bits.

Yuuri's head was light. "Halt an Lieb und Treu! - Fest du liebend Paar," it poured out of him and his voice was clear and firm – and was that even his voice?! "Macht ja Lieb und Treue alles Hoffen wahr."

This line would have been followed by Kühleborn voicing his dismay of humanity in general and probably Huldbrand in particular, but Mr. Feltsman waved and Georgi stopped playing.

"Alright, you said you could sing something else? Heilmann has no big arias, so do so."

Oh hell.

Yuur swallowed. Something else, something else. Definitely not _Va, Pensiero_ , that was not a good choice. And nothing from another role of _Undine_ as well, considering that all the lengthy and impressive arias had gone to the women.

"Uh... I could sing from Rossini's _La Cenerentola_ ," he suggested. "The role would be that of a valet to a prince. They switch places..."

Georgi raised a hand. "Sorry, never heard of that. Sounds fun, though."

"Oh." Yuuri took a breath.

Mr. Feltsman sighed. "Alright, we do not have all day. Has to be enough. Next!"

Any air still remaining in Yuuri's lungs left him all at once. "But..."

But Mr. Feltsman was waving impatiently and of course Andreas was still waiting for his chance to sing and show what he got and no, Yuuri could not take that away from him, no.

He slowly turned around and left the stage.

Andreas passed him and quickly squeezed his shoulder before taking his place.

Yuuri leaned against a beam and then his knees gave out. His hands holding him still kept him upright enough for him to slowly lower himself on the ground without looking suspicious.

"I'll try out for Huldbrand as well!" Andreas declared. "And if I could persuade both of the dames present to assist me?"

"Of course." Mila Babitch chuckled. "With which scene would you like to start with?"

Andreas smiled. "The scene from before continued. After Kühleborn leaves and Undine and Huldbrand are finally alone?"

Sara Crispino nodded slowly. "I will start at _Verschwunden aller Störung eitler Wust_ then?"

Andreas bowed deeply. "Thank you very much."

Georgi leafed through his sheet music. "Got it!" He started playing only a few keys before Sara sang.

"Verschwunden aller Störung eitler Wust! Nur Liebe hebt, nur Hoffnung froh die Brust."

Andreas seemed entirely enraptured with her at that moment. "Was schau' ich dort auf dem Felsenufer?"

Yuuri could hear why he was worried; his baritone was of a rather hard, firm quality, like a thick layer of sandstone. He tried to lock his attention in on that, lest the whistling in his ears would grow louder.

"Ja ich bin es," Sara Crispino answered and Andreas went on, "Vertrau' ich der süßen Traumgestaltung?"

"Ja ich bin es," The Crispino repeated and went on, "O nah' dich mir, du holder schöner Mann." Their meeting was slightly disturbed by some spirits hissing insults (provided by Plisetsky with much gusto) before Undine shooed them away and the happy couple was once again left alone.

"Nichts will ich dir verhehlen," Andreas pledged with enough passion that his voice almost sounded as flaming as a mild spring breeze. "Du Mägdlein lieb und traut : Von einer Braut, oh süße Kleine, ja!"

The Crispino's Unine took the chance her sweetheart offered her to inquisit about any prior marital promises he might have made. "Der Herzogsbraut?"

"Was Herzogsbraut!" Andreas denied and then tried even further to calm his love's suspicions, "Die rechte Braut ist nah."

"Wie lieblich so zu plaudern," they then went on to sing together, "In stiller Nacht allein – rings weh'n mit süßem Schaudern die Wasser und der Hain." Singing together the divergence was even more noticeable; Andreas sounded like he was intent to throw himself on the poor woman and crus her under himself. Granted, he would have had a hard time trying to achieve that.

"Und nahe blickt Und nah' entzückt geliebter Augen Schein!"

The scene concluded and Andreas took a bow before the Crispino. "I am forever grateful."

The Crispino hinted at a curtsy and made room for Mila Babitch.

"The duet from the second act, I suppose?" the Babitch asked.

"Would have been my suggestion," Andreas agreed.

He was playing on his charm, Yuuri realized. Maybe his voice didn't fit perfectly with the Crispino's, but he and the most important roles got on well and could transport the feeling of their scenes well. Smart move.

Georgi started playing and Mila Babitch transformed her usually cheerfully brash grin into a shy, yet utterly elated smile. "Wie?" she asked, "darf ich's wagen?"

Andreas offered her his hand and declared, Romantic Knight all the way, "Nie darfst du zagen Wenn dich mein tapfrer Arm beschützt."

"Die Wolken dunkeln!" The Babitch exclaimed, worried.

"Die Waffen funkeln," Andreas answered, "Und meine freudige Klinge blitzt."

Rather violent way to proclaim his love, Yuuri had to give him that.

Mila Babitch sighed. "Ach gern, mein Ritter. Im Ungewitter vertrau' ich deiner holden Macht."

"Dich zu beschirmen vor allen Stürmen macht mir zum lichten Tag die Nacht."

Andreas sounded a lot better with the Babitch, Yuuri noticed. Their voices had the same steel in them, a firmly grounded, hard quality that contrasted the Crispino in a way that could almost seem deliberate.

They had a few more exchanges before getting to sing together.

"Wie drohend Stürme wüten - Wie bang verfliegt die Spreu, nur heller glüh'n die Blüthen Von Ritterhuld und Treu!"

Yes, voice-wise the two of them were like twins.

"Alright!" Mr. Feltsman called, "that was it already? Anyone else?"

They all had sung and so remained silent.

"Fine. You wait." He got up and waved harshly, causing the soloists to get moving and follow him.

Yuuri let out a deep breath as Andreas sat down next to him.

"Heilmann is tricky to sing," Andreas grumbled. "Small and no larger solo part."

"Same with Huldbrand" Yuuri sighed. "Maybe except of the part being small. Urgh, I should have prepared something else, but…"

"Tough luck." Andreas made a face. "But the bit you did sing sounded good."

"I didn't miss any notes, at least. That's something."

"And you sang through without breaking down," Andreas grinned. "You're really getting better at this."

Steps returned to them much faster than they had expected them to and they all looked up.

Mr. Feltsman glared at them and they got to their feet.

The soloists trailed in the background, leaning on beamposts and walls and watched as the show unfolded.

"Decided," Mr. Feltsman declared. "Katsuki for Pater Heilman, Stadler for Huldbrand."

Yuuri turned to Andreas. "Oh no, I'm so sorry..."

"Yes!" Andreas' face flickered, but then he broke into a grin. "Good job, Yuuri!"

"What?" Yuuri furrowed his brow. "What..." Then he replayed the words in his head. "Oh."

"Yes." Andreas' grin grew even wider. "Awesome!"

"Kästner!"

Andreas flinched as Mr. Feltsman glared another row of daggers at him. "Yes?!"

"You stay too. Everyone else, thank you, good work, I'll look forward to the next try-out for a production. Nice to see when hard work bears fruit."

There was some sighing around them.

Yuuri heard some "Congrats!" and "Good job!" and "Now you gonna have so much more stress than us!" thrown at him as well as August and Andreas as the other singers shuffled out and the three of them remained.

Mr. Feltsman nodded gravely. "I made choice. Talked about to your fellow singers. Heard some opinions. Stadler, work hard! You sing well and fit Sara. We will see how you work with Mila, but you are good."

August nodded with a solemn face.

"Katsuki, your nerves get in your way. Is better today. But work. Is annoying when good voice goes to waste for silly stuff."

That actually sounded almost kind and supportive. "Yes," he said. "I... I will work on it. Thank you."

"Do so. And you, Andreas Kästner." Mr. Feltsman raised his hand in a wave. "A word. Over there."

He and Andreas went a few paces away and then Yuuri saw Mr. Feltsman talk animatedly while Andreas seemed to mostly listen.

"Huh. Would have thought he'd offer someone else the Heilmann part," August commented. "You do not look like a priest, after all."

"I apparently spend enough time around them to make up for that," Yuuri replied, managing a smile. He watched Andreas' face fall before it tensed and then lit up again.

The talk seemed to go well then? Good, very good.

August sighed. "Well, the things I do for a career," he declared before sauntering off.

Whatever he meant by that. Yuuri surely was not that bad of a partner in the few scenes in which they had to interact, as long as he did not freeze up again. Which he surely would be working on. He had yet to figure out how, but he would. Hopefully. Freezing up mid-performance surely would not help his reputation.

In any case, August bid his goodbye with a dismissal wave as Andreas came up to them.

"So?" he asked.

Andreas was smiling. Yuuri would not have expected anyone to smile after a private talk with Mr. Feltsman. "Well, apparently both our lovely ladies spoke in my favour, when Mr. Feltsman informed them about his decision. That's decent consolation in my book. And I'm to understudy the Huldbrand part."

"That's good, right?" Yuuri asked, "You look like it's good."

"It's pretty good. In Mr. Feltsman's language that translates to him making very sure you get the part next time. Or a similar part. And considering that he doesn't have to butt heads with Wagner about that anymore, I patiently await the next baritone lead."

"Well... congratulations, then." Yuuri managed to smile. "You'll be at the rehearsals too, then?"

"Yes. Farewell, sweet free time, hello hard work." Andreas sighed. "Well, at least I can present yet another good reason why I still am not considering marriage. And maybe _I am working so hard that right now I have no time to find a suitable wife_ will shut my mother up."

"Not the marrying kind?"

"Blergh, no!" Andreas waved. "If I want to be harped on, that's what mothers are for, no need to spend money on a woman to get that." He shook his head and they watched as Sara Crispino attempted some conversation with August, before smiling politely and coming over to them.

"Congratulations, Yuuri. I'll look forward to be wed by you." She smiled a bit brighter. "Let us just hope my husband will at some point share the sentiment."

Andreas sighed. "I think August would have preferred to have a less Mediterranean Undine at his side."

Sara merely shrugged. "Well, tough luck, he's the newcomer, he does not get to pick his partner. And if he can't work with people he does not like very well, he'd better remain in the chorus anyways. Congratulations on the understudy. I look forward to work with you."

"Thank you." Andreas grinned brightly and then scratched his neck and Yuuri watched him blush. It was adorable.

Yuuri chuckled. "I see you tomorrow then." He turned and left the stage, heading down the corridors.

He was alone. No Viktor waiting in the shadows, no Viktor stepping closer.

He most definitely had listened to the try-out. He had said he would.

Maybe he had left after Yuuri had sung and already decided that he was not worth the attention spent on him after all. At least that would mean a clear answer and Yuuri could think about what to do with his once again free afternoons and evenings.

He should just go home. It was not even noon and he already was exhausted to the bone, the flutter of nerves now giving way to a fog of numbness.

Still, he at least wanted to tell Viktor how grateful he was for how far he had brought him. Afterwards, well, he would see when he got there. Right now Viktor's behaviour did not lend itself to educated guesses.

He sneaked down to the basement, ducking into the shadow whenever he heard someone, waiting there for them to pass.

Only when he finally was there he recalled that Viktor had never given him a key. He would have to wait here in the hope that Viktor would come by in time.

At the very least he knew for sure that Viktor would come by here. His violin was up here, safely in its case and tucked away into its corner. Viktor only ever took it down to the cave to play and then would unfailingly carry it back up again to protect it from the damp air there.

As far as Yuuri knew he practised daily, often composing at the same time. He would come at some point.

Right?

He waited for a good, long time before finally, finally he heard steps coming closer. Not Viktor's, but familiar ones, and somehow he was not at all surprised when Yuri Plisetsky stopped and glared daggers down at him.

"Let me guess," Yuuri sighed, "I was mistaken in my assumption that he has already headed down here and he is actually still upstairs?"

Plisetsky's mouth twitched upwards. "You're getting better at this. Finally. Now come, I bet he's halfway crazy. You kind of freaked him out. Guess who had to deal with it." He waved and Yuuri got up, following him back upstairs. "Sorry about that."

"Eh. It's Viktor. What else is new?"

This on the other hand, caused Yuuri to chuckle a bit.

"Congratulations to the Heilmann."

"Thank you."

"Don't look too excited though," Plisetsky continued, "one might think you're happy about getting a solo part."

"Uh..." Yuuri shrugged. "I am. But it might need some sinking in. I guess. And that was the easy part."

"Yup, glad you caught on to that." Yuri flashed him something that might be a grin. "He's in my dressing room. I'll be out here. Don't make a mess."

He guided Yuuri back to his dressing room. "Lock the door when you leave. See you." With that he waved and walked off.

Yuuri stood there, staring at the door and raising a hand. And stood and stared and held his hand up.

Damn, this was as stupid as the first time that he had met him. Maybe even more so.

With a deep breath, he finally tapped the door and then took the handle, pressed it down and then entered.

The room was as garishly Spartan as before.

Viktor was sitting on the chaise lounge, hands folded in his lap and he quickly rose to his feet the moment Yuuri entered. "Hello."

"Hello." Mouth dry, Yuuri quickly closed the door. "Again."

Viktor curled his hands into fists, then let them fall open again and came a step closer.

Yuuri did the same. "I... well, I landed the part."

"I heard." Viktor managed a smile, but it was quite shaky. "Congratulations."

"Thank you... I mean, I got so good thanks to you, so thank you. For everything up until now." Yuuri swallowed and his gaze fell to the dark green carpet.

Viktor came another step closer.

"And about what I said, I..."

"Yuuri," Viktor said, "could you look at me?"

Yuuri looked up. Viktor was very close to him again and one of his hands was reaching out to him, remaining in the air, in front of Yuuri's face. Yuuri was so tempted to take it.

The hand moved a bit before finding his cheek.

His eye flickered over Yuuri's face. and then he sighed. "I'm so sorry."

Well, that sounded promising. "No, no, not your fault, really…"

"I caused you pain," Viktor sighed. "I am sorry for that." He ran his thumb over Yuuri's cheek.

So either he was declined mutual affection in the most confusing fashion Yuuri had ever experienced or Viktor was doing and saying the entire opposite.

It was entirely too much confusion for Yuuri to handle right now and damnit, all he wanted was some clarity and if he had to kiss Viktor for it, then well, sure.

The next moment he had grabbed him by the front of the shirt, pulled down to himself and then paused for yet another moment. Viktor's eye was still wide, but he did not push Yuuri away, so Yuuri finally leaned the last bit up and brushed his lips against Viktor's.

That was it.

That and Viktor's arm wrapping itself around Yuuri's waist and pulling him closer and Yuuri's hands finding a place behind Viktor's neck to rest and remain there, even when Viktor pulled away a bit and looked again at him, eye bright and laughing as he kissed him again.

"Well..." Yuuri cleared his throat. "I... I think that answers my question."

Viktor pulled him closer again. "Think so. I am sorry."

Yes, there was that as well, good thing that Viktor brought it up. Yuuri probably would have forgotten about it until long after he had left.

"What was it anyways?" he asked. "You were so strange all of a sudden, I really..." He shook his head.

"Well..." Without letting go of him even one bit Viktor led them to the chaise lounge and had them sit down there. "Well, I... I was stupid. Yura will say that this is my general modus operandi, but this is one of the rare occasions he might be onto something."

Yuuri wiggled himself into a comfortable position, which he finally found in the form of being very much wrapped up and covered and blanketed by Viktor. "Care to cue me in?"

"Well..." Viktor paused and then sighed. "Do you remember the opening night for the _Wildschütz_? The party afterwards?"

"I drank too much," Yuuri sighed. "Plisetsky got me and brought me down to you before I could make too much of a fool of myself."

"Yes." Viktor chuckled. "You are very emotional when drunk."

"Oh..." Yuuri's stomach turned fuzzy. Also the blood rose back up his neck and in his head. "I knew I said something."

"You did." Viktor pressed a kiss into Yuuri's hair. It tickled a bit . "You..." He cleared his throat. "You said you loved me."

"Oh." Of course. "Well, that certainly explains you calling me dear," Yuuri sighed. "And prancing around naked."

"Oh." Viktor's cheek against Yuuri's head grew warm. "I apologize for that as well."

Yuuri bit back a comment that the view had been actually rather enjoyable, if very unexpected. Later, maybe.

"Anyways, then it turned out you did not remember and I... I suppose had a moment of panic. I overstepped some boundaries, after all. Being naked and such."

"And such," Yuuri agreed.

"And then I had a moment of thinking."

"Something Plisetsky will be very happy to hear, I am sure."

"He did. He was not." Viktor sighed. "I did some reflection on my behaviour before and came to the conclusion that I had overstepped several boundaries long before that and that maybe I should not have done that. And then you were not happy with me showing restraint."

Yuuri pondered this for a moment. "You do realize that you could have just spoken up and asked whether I mind you being up-close?"

"I could have. I just..." Viktor shifted. "I did not. It was stupid."

"A bit." Yuuri turned around to look into Viktor's face. "Talk, yes?"

Viktor nodded and slowly blinked while pulling Yuuri closer. "I will. Promise." Another kiss. "And just before you start wondering, I will not go easier on you with your lessons. The hard part has just begun."

"I know." Yuuri flashed him a smile. "Better get to it, I guess?"

So... they're together now, everything's gonna go well. It's only smoochiness from now on...

in other news, I finally figured out how the document editing on this site works. ... only took me 10+ years.

So, thanks for dropping by and reading and thanks for spreading the word, maybe drop by on my tumblr to hit me up and watch me reblog cat videos?


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Viktor was true to his word, not that Yuuri would have wanted it any other way. Now that he had gotten the part, the main focus of their lessons was on working on the colour of his voice, attempting to add some more volume and gravity to his baritone.

So, most of the time his lessons consisted of vocal training, singing scales up and down while changing his breathing. Viktor's hand tended to lie on his stomach or flutter over his throat, sending small bolts of warmth through him, and at first he had to force himself to concentrate. The touches were much the same as before, gentle, professional and lingering a bit longer than strictly necessary.

A change was that Viktor had taken a liking to kiss him in between his exercises, softly breathing over his neck before pressing his lips on the sensitive, smooth skin, enjoying how Yuuri startled in surprise and then leaned into the touch. Or he would gently turn Yuuri's head around and lean in close to his face, tempting Yuuri to breach the distance. This was usually towards the end of their lessons when they could take their time. Viktor loved to run his hands through Yuuri's hair and over his back and sides. The longer his hands remained there the dizzier Yuuri tended to get, though. It was a good kind of dizziness, a wonderful squirming in his stomach and a weakening of his knees that for some reason was a lot more delightful than when it happened to him in any other situation.

But it was overwhelming and precisely because of this that a bit scary. Scary enough for Yuuri to pull away at some point.

Viktor then would nuzzle his cheek and move his hands a bit higher and they would sit down somewhere – the table, Viktor's desk, the small chaise lounge – and talk, talk about Yuuri's progress and the next steps in his lessons, about how rehearsals upstairs progressed and how Yuuri got along with both the chorus singers and his future co-soloists.

When in late June Yuuri got a letter from Celestino, congratulating him on his solo and updating him on the events in Milan, he read it out loud and Viktor chuckled. "Formidable man. You seem very much like him," he said, running a hand through Yuuri's hair. "Similar artistic tastes. And you got your sarcasm from him."

"He's not my father, mind you," Yuuri commented.

Viktor shrugged. "He raised you. That is a lot more important than to whom you were born to in my opinion." He sighed and his breath whispered down Yuuri's neck, speeding up his own for a bit. "It sounds awful, I know, but Yakov was a much bigger influence on me than my parents. Which is not hard, considering there is hardly any influence you can have over your child when it is taken from you before his fifth name day."

Yuuri let that sink in. "How did that happen?"

"Glorious Mother Russia," Viktor replied, voice dripping with irony. "Some city dwellers, merchants, craftsmen and intellectuals, a handful of landowners and on the less lucky side some Jews and so many serfs that Russia would be empty if you took them all out. Yura and I have been taken out."

Yuuri would have liked to say something, but the only thing he could come up with was _I'm sorry_. Hardly appropriate and thus he fell back on holding Viktor's hand a little tighter and pressing a little kiss on it.

"Our Landlord took notice of my singing voice when I was four. I think me and some other children used to sing when herding our animals? I don't know anymore. So I was packed up and brought back to his estate and according to Yakov spent the whole time and a few days afterwards bawling and screaming." He chuckled. "Our Landlord fancied himself a grand patron of the arts and as such magnanimous enough to hire a Jew as his conductor and music tutor for his family. Even had his own, private little theatre built on his favourite estate. Staffed almost completely with serfs."

Yuuri's stomach turned cold. "That's horrible."

"On the flip side, we had good food and good clothes. We got a fine training and something like an education. We learned reading and writing at least. Later a friend of our Landlord decided to sponsor me a bit and paid for my education. He also provided me with my surname. All in all we had a good life, as long as we behaved as expected and remembered that we were still chattel."

"It's disgusting, that's what it is."

"Yes, it is." Viktor's arms around him tightened their hold. "But somehow I got to be here now and it is unlikely I would be here if my life had been any different. I cannot help but being grateful for it."

"Even for Richard Wagner?" Yuuri asked, chuckling.

Viktor was silent for a second. "I could have done without him," he then conceded.

"Yura's story is the same?" Yuuri asked and only a moment later he noticed that he had referred to Plisetsky by a nickname.

If the boy in question would ever find out about that Yuuri was sure that he was a very, very dead man.

"Yes. Only that he did not cry when he first arrived. He was silent for days and only stared at everyone as if plotting how to best kill every single one of them."

"Not much has changed then."

"He swears a lot more in all three of his main languages," Viktor mused.

The laid in silence for a while, staring at the ceiling as it disappeared into the candle-cast shadows.

"It still is not right. A few lucky cases that were treated decently does not justify the whole thing," Yuuri said after a while.

"No. But nobody can change the past and only very few people are blessed with the ability to change the present or the future." Viktor pressed a kiss on his temple. "It is late. Do you want to go?"

"Too late," Yuuri mumbled. "Too comfy here."

Yuuri had taken to the habit of staying over when his lessons took place after a performance. He would climb the ladders and stairways and balance until he reached the attic room. They would have their lesson until late night. Then they would carefully, carefully slip out the room and sneak down, ever down, ever downwards to his cave. There, sometimes they would continue some more with Yuuri's vocal training, making use of the acoustics the high ceiling could provide. In any case, they would at some point end up on the chaise lounge, snuggled up together, sometimes talking, sometimes in easy, happy silence.

"Do you want to read something to me?" Viktor asked, his voice rising a bit at the end of the sentence. "Please? Pretty please?"

Yuuri chuckled. "The please was not entirely necessary, but yes. Gladly. What do you want?"

"Something from the German pile. I neglect that language too often." Viktor sighed in something like remorse. "With you I speak Italian and with Yakov and Yuri mostly Russian when you're not around. Without some reading I probably would have forgotten the language a while ago."

"Well, how about you read aloud then?" Yuuri suggested.

"Bah, my pronunciation would make your ears bleed."

"We could practise. Not that my accent is much better, though, so be warned."

"Yuuri!" Viktor whined and his accent thickened, "Is too late in the day for any sort of lesson, please?"

Yuuri chuckled. "Alright." He wiggled in Viktor's arms until he was free and got up, heading for the bed and lighting the lamp there.

Viktor followed him after extinguishing the lights around the chaise lounge and slipped under the blanket after shedding most of his clothes until only an under shirt and a pair of rather old and very carefully mended long johns remained.

Yuuri followed suit after having grabbed a book from the small pile Viktor tended to accumulate on his night stand. Most of them were library books, provided and later taken away again by mostly Plisetsky and apparently sometimes Mr. Feltsman, although Yuuri had yet to see the man himself down here.

"What did you pick?"

"Hoffmann. The _Sandman_ ," Yuuri answered, holding up the thin, linnen-bound book. "Though I don't know why, whenever I read it out loud you can recite it from memory."

"Well, I happen to _like_ this work," Viktor declared, letting himself fall into his pillow. "Also, you can give Coppelius such a wonderfully hissy voice."

Yuuri sighed and then leafed towards the part where they had last left off, reading aloud of a young man's struggle against his own madness and his inevitable succumbing to it.

Viktor laid at his side, an arm idly thrown over Yuuri's stomach, his head leaning against Yuuri's chest.

Yuuri's free hand lazily ran through his hair as he read, occasionally interjected by Viktor finishing a sentence or providing one half of the dialogue, but it grew less and less frequent as Viktor's voice got heavier and his speaking slower, his accent thicker.

Yuuri himself found his sight get a little blurrier as he ran his eyes over the lines. His voice was getting hard to get out and oh, his body was so pleasantly heavy and warm and numb.

"Sleep?" he finally asked.

"Mhm," Viktor mumbled.

This was enough of a yes for Yuuri to carefully lay the book aside and – never leaning away too much from Viktor – blow out the candle, enveloping them in complete, all-encompassing, velvety darkness.

As he laid down, Viktor pulled him closer, holding him tight, breathing gently into his hair.

Yuuri wiggled a little bit until he found a comfortable position to sleep in and then closed his eyes, letting himself fall, guided only by the warmth around him.

In the morning after such evenings he would wake up to warmth all around him. They would get up and dress in time before Plisetsky would show up and bring breakfast. They would eat and then he and Yuuri would get back upstairs to go on about their day.

On days when he was not meeting with Viktor, Yuuri made a point of spending time with his friends. The last thing he needed was Andreas or Thomas getting on his case again for abandoning in favour of his ladylove.

June ended and July broke over them with a heatwave that made them all reluctant to leave the theatre after rehearsals. Yuuri and Andreas spent the time going through their part in _Undine_ , long before the official work on it would finally begin. It was not a completely new production, after all; costumes and props all already existed and most of the singers knew their parts. Mr. Feltsman would start working with the chorus in a week and then, shortly after, put them all on stage together to go through it.

Until then Yuuri still had to suffer through _Vampyr_.

Closing night for _Wildschütz_ was a raging success for them, curtain falling and then rising again for them to bask in one round of applause after another and taking deep, deep bows, before finally, finally the curtain stayed down and they could scuttle backstage and drop on the floor for their traditional post-milestone-performance stupor.

"Thank goodness, finally something new," Mila Babitch sighed, "Not that I didn't enjoy being engaged to you, Johannes, but..."

Johannes Erhardt laughed heartily and pressed her shoulder. "I can't blame you, my girl, I can't blame you. Also, my wife would not be happy at all with me if it were any different." He stretched. "Speaking of which, I will now get to my dressing room and meet up with the best companion any man can wish for and may you all be blessed with an equally perfect match and the will to work for it."

"Sap," One of the freelance singer commented before waving a short goodbye and heading off to their dressing rooms as well to change into evening suits and presumably to start cleaning up. With _Wildschütz_ their employment ended as well and their rooms would be given to the next person in need of one.

The Crispino sighed in relief the moment the were out of earshot. "Thank goodness. Let us hope our body of soloists will grow and grow more reliable."

"And less sleazy in rehearsal breaks," Mila Babitch added. "Yuuri, August, if either of you get the idea to behave unseemingly, I will re-arrange your faces personally."

"By all means," August jeered, "do so, he can only improve on his looks."

Yuuri decided to take it with a face of good humour. "Excuse you, some people do like my face."

"And character," Thomas helpfully added."

"Presumably other things as well," Andreas chimed in, "not that anyone present could properly judge."

"Bah," Mila grumbled, "talking like that in the presence of an innocent young woman."

"You," Sara commented "Innocent."

"Yes."

Yuuri stretched. "Whatever your status, I will not question it. I happen to like my face the way it is, on most days. I'm hungry, who's down for dinner?"

The usual suspects gave their cheers.

They bid their goodbyes and goodnights and went off to change into their clothes and then out to grab some heavily potato-based dinner in their favourite pub.

Tomorrow, Yuuri would spend the evening with Viktor, doing vocal training, singing together, reading to each other, talking about their day and God knew what. Right now, it was a fulfilling and blissful time together, but Yuuri often enough went about his day, wandering through the city, dropping by in some bookstore or a library or a music store, wondering whether Viktor would like this or that and musing about how much he would enjoy one particular outing and the people to meet there.

He wanted to bring him along so badly, at least to enjoy the company, to see something, anything else than what he might see everyday at the theatre.

As for now, Viktor seemed content to be where he was with Yuuri being with him on any occasion he could find and thus, Yuuri was happy as well.

The last week of June brought with it the begin of rehearsals for _Undine_. Since Yuuri was still in the chorus he partook in both the chorus rehearsals and those set for the soloists in _Undine_. For the second act he would change the Cloth of the Priesthood for something more spirited anyways and sing in the chorus, since he had no part there.

It meant for him that he had to be present for chorus rehearsal as well as for the soloist ones afterwards.

These as of late had been rather well visited by potential sponsors, much to Mr. Feltsman's disgruntlement. "They are distracting," he commented as he watched them take seats and look at them expectantly. "And they do like not when I chastise you and when they are not happy it is not good. Not for me and not for you. So no chastising and you can not rehearse properly. Not good."

"Tell them to stay away then," Plisetsky suggested. "Not like you have to entertain them if they bother you, right?"

"Not good for me either and not good for singers who can do with patronages." Mr. Feltsman shrugged. "Will have to take care of it, now." With that he clapped his hands. "You all on your positions!" And then he left the stage to greet their visitors and to oversee their rehearsal from there.

Yuuri noticed Free Lady Poellchau smiling brightly up to them. Next to her he spotted Phichit, smiling just as cheerfully.

He noticed Yuuri and waved at him.

Yuuri smiled and nodded back before focusing on Mila and August going through their scene together, close to the end of the play.

"Kühlend die Schatten, blühend die Matten," Yuuri provided in lieu of a full chorus, "Silbern die Wellen, der Himmel so klar! Lasst uns hier kosen, flechtet die hellen, tauigen Rosen einander ins Haar!"

Mila smiled brightly. "Ist doch in Wald und Flur nichts Schönres als die Schnur der sonnenblanken Steine," she sang, delighting in the beauty of nature around her, "die mir mein Freund geschenkt. Oh seht wie klar, wie reine im hellen Sonnenscheine das farb'ge Licht sich hebt und senkt, Weh! – was geschah?"

His part was done and Yuuri could lean back and listen to her and August sing themselves to their ultimate doom.

"Ha schnöde Gaukeleyn!" August sang and then a trialogue between Huldbrand, his current wife Undine and his former betrothed Berthalda took place that resulted in him casting Undine aside, despite her warnings of some great tragedy that might befall him for doing so.

Mr. Feltsman sighed and raised his arms. "Stop! August, how is Huldbrand right now?"

August paused and scratched his head. "Well… not happy, for sure."

"Yes." Again Mr. Feltsman sighed in what was very much not an expression of content. "Imagine why?"

"Well, is wife is disobedient to him and won't behave like she is supposed to." August shrugged. "On the other hand he has his former betrothed being everything he expects a woman and a wife to be and is questioning his decision to marry someone so entirely unlike him."

Sara made a face at that Yuuri generously interpreted as overwhelmingly unimpressed.

"Of course he is questioning his decisions now," August continued. "The fact that he can't get out of his marriage again probably does not help."

Maybe he was projecting, Yuuri wondered.

Mr. Feltsman sighed. He was sighing a lot today. Certainly more than he was usually screaming. Maybe sighing was only an inadequate replacement for screaming? "If you say so," he finally said. "Then sing like it. Again, from top!"

They started again and went through the dialogue until the moment when some water spirits snatched away a necklace from Berthalda.

"Um meinen lieben Schmuck betrogen, ich armes Kind!" Mila complained, sounding very much like a poor child indeed.

"Verdammte Wogen, die gastlich heuchelnd uns gelogen, dort, dort zum trüben Sumpfe ein!" August hissed and then turned to Sara, "Und du o Weib!"

"O schilt nicht hier. Nicht an den Wellen mich, geliebter Mann! Da zög' es mich mit ernstem Bann auf immer fort von Dir!" Sara's Undine warned and then tried to calm him into being kind and gentle to her again.

"Sara!" Mr. Feltsman called. "A bit gentler! More meek. Try to play an attempt at being submissive!"

Mila snorted at that comment and Sara shot her a look.

"Georgi, play my part again!" she called.

Georgi looked up, blinked and then started to play her aria again.

Sara sang her first lines again and then continued, "Doch kannst du schweigen oder mild wie sonst, ach! zu Undinen sprechen, will ich, wie grimm die Woge schwillt, den Zorn mit süßem Wort ihr brechen." She continued then to sing an aside towards the waves, begging them to give back the necklace they had taken – or if not another, more beautiful one. "Traute sonnenblaue Welle, gib zurück das blanke Pfand. Und wenn's schon zu weit entschwand, o so liefre gleich zur Stelle, mir ein schön'res in die Hand." Yuuri could not help but be in awe at how flexible her voice was, in one moment meek, almost afraid and desperate to soothe her angry husband, the next she was entirely otherworldly, whispering to the water, bending it to her will and through it all she was constantly sweet and flexible.

Maybe someday he would get to sing as her counterpart.

Mr. Feltsman nodded for them to continue.

"Was steigt aus klaren Fluten so lockend hell hinauf," Yuuri provided the chorus, "Hegst du auch Rosengluthen, du blauer Wogenlauf?"

"Hab Dank, du freundlich Kind." Sara smiled brightly at him and then turned to Mila. "Da, Liebchen, nimm!"

Her offer at peace and friendship was rejected. "Was soll das meinem Schmerz und Grimm!" Mila's Berthalda complained. "Hin ist die teure Gabe, die mir vor Allem galt."

The scene played out and even in rehearsal and with some glitches and flubs it was painful to watch Undine trying to be to her husband's liking and to befriend his former betrothed whom she obviously had taken a liking to, just to be so harshly rejected by both of them, despite all her efforts.

Hoffmann clearly sympathised with her here. And considering how Undine and Berthalda were the only roles with significantly long solo parts he probably was more sympathetic to women in general. At least the _Sandman_ suggested something similar.

They went through the scene for another round before focusing on the first act.

"Ah, our priest has found himself some dignity," Mr. Feltsman commented, as Yuuri had sung his wedding sermon. "Now if he could find the notes as well, it might be even something worth listening to. Again!"

Yuuri had missed a few notes indeed. So maybe his words were something like a praise and Yuuri was keen to justify it if it was indeed so.

When they were through with rehearsal, Yuuri was as exhausted as if he had just sung through a performance and sat down on a crate in the wings.

August saw it and tried to look fresh and perky, but he seemed a bit out of sorts as well as he wandered around.

Plisetsky seemed equally dazed. He had not sung any of his parts today, which was probably a good thing too. He had deep shadows under his eyes and looked even more annoyed by the general state of the world (or maybe his mere existence in it) than usual for him. Not to mention he was awfully pale.

Probably hadn't slept very well, Yuuri suspected.

Their little audience came up to them, Free Lady Poellchau cheerfully ignoring the warning signs about Plisetsky and walking up to him.

Maybe Plisetsky did not display his warning signs as clearly as usual (if that was truly the case, then Mr. Feltsman's presence in the room was most definitely the reason) and she approached him, blissfully unaware of his constantly foul mood.

Plisetsky did nothing to rob her of the illusion of him being in a good mood, smiling a somewhat tired, pallid smile as she greeted him with a bright twittering, "Mr. Plisetsky. How good to see you. But too sad that we did not get to hear you today."

Plisetsky mumbled something and gave her a nod that looked very much not-unkind.

"Mr. Katsuki!"

Yuuri turned around to find Phichit standing in front of him, smiling broadly and brightly. "I have not congratulated yet." He reached out a hand and Yuuri took it. "And at least to me you do sound very good. Very well-suited for your role."

"Thank you." Yuuri managed a smile. "But Mr. Feltsman had a point there, I still need to work on the role." And oh, how he did. Thank goodness opening night was not tomorrow.

"I will leave that to your judgement," Phichit amended, "You are more of an expert on this than me. But to me you did sound very fine. I am looking forward to hear you when you are satisfied with yourself."

Yuuri laughed. "Let's just hope I manage to get that far by opening night. Let alone have Mr. Feltsman be satisfied with me. Will you be there?"

Phichit made a face. "I fear not." He sighed. "My current stay at Dresden is coming to... not really a close, mind you, just an interruption. I am scheduled to head for London three weeks from now."

"Oh." Yuuri could not help the twinge of disappointment. "Well, I hope you enjoy your time there."

"The most enjoyable thing about my stay there is that it is hopefully very short," Phichit assured him. "The second most that I might be provided with ample time for doing my sketches with nobody breathing down my neck."

Yuuri smiled at him. "For how long will you be away?"

"Hopefully no longer than another two or three weeks. It is just a check-up on our London partners, nothing more. I will be back before you know it and most definitely before _Undine_ has its closing night." Phichit laid his hand on Yuuri's arm. "I would like to call on you when I am back, with your permission?"

"Yes, of course." Yuuri nodded and then asked, "And what will you do in your remaining time here in Dresden?"

Phichit shrugged. "Work. Sketch. Maybe paint a bit, although my lodgings offer terrible light for it. Go out. Amuse myself. Meet people. Enjoy the arts Dresden has to offer. By the way, would you join me for lunch coming Sunday?"

Yuuri nodded before he realized. "Of course."

"Wonderful. I have made a few sketches of your rehearsals today again. Hopefully I have worked them into a concept by then. I would like to show you." Phichit smiled at him enthusiastically and this time Yuuri was aware of it when he nodded in agreement. "That would be very kind of you. What are you planning to do with us and our singing anyways?"

Phichit chuckled. "Now that would be telling, would it not?" He waved a finger at him. "If everything comes together as I hope, a scene from an opera in all its dramatic glory. Potentially _Vampyr_ , but _Undine_ has a lot of potential too."

Yuuri smiled and looked around. "I think Miss Crispino has a few words for you, would you not like to pay attention to her?"

Phichit looked over to her and she smiled, while still chatting with Mila and another gentleman, probably the very same Yuuri recalled to be such an avid connoisseur of Wagner.

"Well, we should never keep a lady waiting, right?" Phichit sighed. "I hope to see you Sunday?" He reached into his jacket and handed Yuuri a small calling card containing his name and address.

"I will be there after mass." Yuuri read the address - a hotel he passed by every Sunday on his way to church, it turned out, and one that probably cost more a week than he earned in a month - and pocketed the card while Phichit headed over to Sara.

Lunch was a good cue, though. Yuuri should head out and get himself a bite before the preparations for tonight's performance started.

Opening night for _Vampyr_ came and went with moderate success and with moderate to little success it went on.

One night Yuuri spotted both Mrs. Eleonora and Free Lady Poellchau in the audience, listening with rapt attention, but they were probably the only ones.

Plisetsky, as usual, finished his parts with bravour despite the stage make up doing a somewhat poor job to cover up the signs of exhaustion that had by now firmly settled down on his face.

He also was rather subdued afterwards, merely shrugging whenever someone addressed him rather than glowering and growling a response.

Was he sick?

Yuuri watched him from the side.

So far Plisetsky seemed just very tired, rubbing his eyes throughout the list of faults Mr. Feltsman had found with tonight's performance. (Which consisted of nothing he did not complain about after every performance, so Yuuri could relate very well.)

"We go over it tomorrow!" Mr. Feltsman ended his sermon. "Good night!"

This was all Yuri Plisetsky needed to dash off, without looking back.

"Yuri!" Mr. Feltsman called after him, but the young man did not turn around.

"Wow," Thomas commented, "look at him, being all busy and in a hurry."

"Might be he is meeting someone," Andreas shrugged. "I mean, I remember when Yuuri was like that when he and his girl were new – by the way, when will you finally introduce her to us? How long have you been seeing her now, it's time we meet her."

Yuuri shrugged. "You will know the day you all stop acting like someone being sweet on someone else is akin to them dying."

"Never, then," Johannes summarised. "Glad we talked about it."

"But..." Andreas gestured into the general direction Plisetsky had disappeared into. "I mean... how would _he_ get anyone to like him?!"

"Good voice," Yuuri commented.

"Pretty face," Thomas agreed.

"Extremely pretty face," August nodded as they headed for the dressing room.

Plisetsky rushed past them, some of his stage make-up still clinging to his skin and he rubbed at his face frantically.

"Definitely a girl," Andreas declared. "And I still don't get it," he continued while shedding his costume. "Sorry, but no pretty face in the world can make up for that personality!"

"If it's a girl, she'll catch on soon enough," August shrugged. "And if you remember, the Jap got a girl. _If_ he got a girl, that is. If that's the case, then I guess anything's possible."

"Yes, true." Alexander nodded. "He has no accent, he's well known and his looks are not too alien – sorry Yuuri, no offence."

Yuuri managed to wave it off- "None taken." Offence was, in fact, taken.

"I mean, you're entirely different. Exotic," Thomas added. "That's something else."

"Totally. Plisetsky is Western, but there's Western," Andreas pointed at his own face, "and there's … Western. Or like something not-western trying to be Western and it's not good. Looks weird. Not Plisetsky, though."

"No way he's Russian," someone interjected. "Too delicate."

"Too smart, too."

Yuuri felt his stomach sink listening to this and he quietly finished dressing and cleaning up before grabbing the basket he had brought, and then slipped out of the room and away into the corridors, slowly climbing up the stairways and ladders.

Nice to know where he belonged, at the very least. It helped gaining perspective, he mused, growing ever more glum the more the darkness of the attic surrounded him.

At the same time, though, it covered him like a blanket, warm, heavy and comforting. He had known that he was somewhat other anyways. It was only a reminder, nothing else.

Underneath the door there was a sheen of light.

Softly Yuuri knocked and then listened to the short, fast fall of steps. The door opened, he slipped in and Viktor drew him into a hug while closing the door.

Yuuri felt himself falling against him and into his arms, breathing in deeply.

Viktor smiled into his hair. "Missed you, too." He pressed a short kiss into Yuuri's hair and then another on his temple and for now everything in the world was in place again.

Yuuri hummed contently, finally willing himself to bring a little distance between them. "Lessons first, then dinner?"

"I like that proposal." Viktor's hand ran over his cheek, very soft and very, very warm. He furrowed his brow. "Are you alright? You are pale."

"The light is not exactly flattering, dear," Yuuri argued. "I am alright."

Viktor sighed. "Lessons then."

Yuuri knew he would ask again later, but he would answer then. Right now it was more important to sing himself warm and to feel Viktor step behind him and pull his shoulders back.

Breath exercises. Then singing deep into his stomach and singing from it.

Singing high notes from his stomach, singing deep notes on the top of his voice.

Singing scales up and down.

Another set of breath exercises. All the time Viktor's hand on his throat or his stomach, controlling the movement of his breath.

It felt so wonderfully right and Yuuri had to force himself not to lean into the touch. Doing that would have greatly diminished his ability to focus on any lesson on singing or breathing Viktor could give him, he just knew that. No, there was time for that later.

And later came.

"I think that is enough for today," Viktor mumbled in his ear and then hummed a lively little tune as he pulled him closer, running his fingers over Yuuri's arm. "You must be starving."

"Hm." Now Yuuri allowed himself to lean into the touch, even more so when Viktor's lips began fluttering over his neck, sending small, pleasant shocks through his body. "I think I can still survive until we're downstairs."

Viktor breathed down his neck a last time and then pressed a kiss on his cheek. "Alright."

He took the basket and led Yuuri through the house, now mostly quiet and sleeping, and down to the basement, their fingers woven together and them leaning into each other. It was good. It was where he belonged

By now Yuuri found his way through Viktor's living quarters no matter the lighting conditions and when they arrived, Viktor went around lighting candles and lamps while Yuuri started setting the table.

Dinner consisted again of cuts of bread and cold meats and cheese and tea and it was pleasantly domestic and quiet, easily calming Yuuri's still somewhat fluttering nerves, especially when they settled down on the chaise lounge, Yuuri with a book in hand, Goethe's _Werther_ this time.

"Poor fellow," Viktor sighed. "I feel him."

"What, you afraid I am getting married and that you will kill yourself when that happens?" Yuuri asked, turning around.

Viktor pulled him closer. "You are not planning on getting married, are you?"

"What?" Yuuri blinked at him. "Do I have to understand how you get that idea or am I free to just roll with the way your mind works?"

Viktor leaned his cheek against Yuuri's temple. "No, no, just a thought. But you seem unwell."

Ah, there it was. Yuuri put the book aside. "I'm alright. Really."

Viktor's hand brushed over his cheek. "You have been pretty pale the whole evening. Are you sure you are not getting sick?"

"I am." Yuuri leaned in closer and his world continued to slip back into place. "If I was I would not be here. God help me if you caught something from me."

Viktor chuckled, letting gusts of breath hush over the side of Yuuri's neck. "Yes. What a shame that would be, right? Unimaginable." Then his tone shifted again. "Really, what is the matter? I know there is something bothering you."

Yuuri sighed. "No sense in trying to fool you, huh?"

"Glad you are realizing this." Viktor ran a hand down Yuuri's arm until he could interlace their fingers. "You want to tell me?"

Yuuri pondered about it for a moment and then shook his head. "I would rather not." And then he added, "Sorry," when Viktor tensed up against his back.

Viktor squeezed his hand. "It is alright, but…" Another kiss on Yuuri's temple and a sigh rushing over his skin, leaving a shiver in its wake. "If I can I would like to help you, but if you do not tell me what is eating on you I will not know what I can do. If there is anything I can do."

Something placed itself around Yuuri's throat with firm gentleness muting his breath a little.

He curled tighter into the crook of Viktor's body and lifted their joined hands to his lips. "You are already helping. A lot."

Viktor turned his face to kiss him and Yuuri felt himself melt into the touch, the softness only cut through by an unmistakable spike of desire.

It had him pause for a moment, examining the feeling that was amassing warmth in his stomach.

This was definitely nothing new. Viktor had an uncanny ability to cause something in Yuuri's body to stir up and it never failed to unsettle him. He needed distance to find to his balance again.

A part of him wanted some distance, but for once, it was the significantly smaller part, most of Yuuri remaining where he was. More or less. The position was not entirely suited for long, languid kisses and he shifted and turned.

The book, long forgotten, fell down with a soft _thud,_ pushed off by a shifting leg.

Viktor ran a hand over Yuuri's cheek. "Feeling better?"

"A bit." Yuuri pondered what he wanted to say next. This had to come out right. He took Viktor's hand and placed it on his hip, very deliberately next to his mid-section. His body seemed to consider this a very good idea. "Though I think there is something you could help me with. If you'd like to?"

Viktor shot him a somewhat puzzled look. "Sure?" He moved his hand a little and Yuuri found himself leaning into the touch.

"Sure." He nodded and reached up for a kiss. "Might need a few lessons here as well."

Viktor laughed into the kiss. "Well, you know I live to teach you."

Yuuri chuckled. "I know. And I love to learn."

Viktor was busying himself with Yuuri's shirt already, undoing the buttons and slipping a hand under his under shirt, making him squirm, he did not quite know himself whether towards the touch or away from it.

Viktor's touch softened for a bit until the direction was clear. Into it.

Very much into it.

Viktor did not bother to take more of Yuuri's clothes off, just unbuttoned his trousers and pulled them down enough to have free access to him.

His touch was gentle, very gentle, just a fingertip running up and down his length. It felt wonderful and at the same time it was so little that he grumbled in frustration.

Viktor chuckled into his ear and Yuuri blinked up to him, wrapping his arms around Viktor's back, keeping him from moving away any more. "You're mean."

"I know. Sorry." Viktor was not sorry, not even when he kissed Yuuri to make up for it. "But it is just so much fun to tease you."

"Not for me."

Another kiss on his brow and then on his nose, while Viktor's finger still whispered up and down his erection. "So, you want me to stop?"

"Hell, no!" Yuuri's hand landed on Viktor's arm and again, it had him laughing. "Just... a bit more delivery after the teasing?"

Viktor rubbed his nose against Yuuri's cheek and down to his neck. "Can do that."

And he did.

His hand wrapped itself around Yuuri's erection, moving up and down, slowly and with a firm grip that was offset by his fingertips moving about the tip of Yuuri's erection whenever he was there.

It took longer than Yuuri would have thought. Whenever the need had arisen for him he had been fairly quick about it, eager to get rid of first the erection and then whatever stains he had made in the process.

Viktor however took his time, pausing on occasion to just let his hand rest around Yuuri's cock and listen to him grumble and ask and maybe outright demand for him to continue.

Viktor most definitely enjoyed hearing him and maybe that was the reason why he did pause so frequently.

At some point it still was too much to take any more. Yuuri came with a short shudder, his fingers digging into the fabric of Viktor's shirt, a gasp bitten back and swallowed.

Viktor pulled him close. "Good?"

Yuuri sighed deeply, body light and heavy all at once. "Hm." He blinked, moving his legs against Viktor's and meeting something hard.

Viktor sucked in a small breath. "Oh. Well." He smiled sheepishly. "Well, you see, I like helping you out. A lot."

"Can see that." Yuuri bit his lips and then made a decision. "What do you want me to do?"

"What... well..." Viktor breathed in and out. "Well. Nothing you don't want to?" he then suggested. "I am not keen on lovers being coerced into anything."

"You are not. Coercing me, I mean, but…" Yuuri's head was still a bit frazzled and it took him time to put his thoughts into words. "I would like to know what you like. If you would like to show me."

Viktor let out a little laugh as he took Yuuri's hand. "You do like to surprise me."

"Apparently." Yuuri leaned in for a kiss. "Show me."

Viktor did and Yuuri was an attentive learner, letting Viktor's hand guide him where and how to touch, listening to his soft gasps and groans for where to linger and when just to let his lips and hands ghost over him.

He was right. Teasing _was_ fun, a lot even. But nothing compared to watching his face twitch, feeling his body tense before he sank back, panting.

It took him a few moments before his breathing evened. "Bed?" He then suggested. "After a bit cleaning up of course."

"Sounds good, yes." Yuuri moved a bit for Viktor to get up and followed him to the back of the cave where two small streams flowed along, heading for the river Elbe. Viktor used the bigger one for washing and disposing of both kitchen and bodily wastes, while the smaller one provided clean, fresh drinking water, untainted by the wastes the citizens flushed into the Elbe.

He soaked up a small cloth and handed it to Yuuri, holding the candle for him as he cleaned himself up.

"Thank you." Yuuri exchanged the cloth for the candle and watched Viktor wiping himself down before he rinsed the cloth and then left it there, next to the stream.

"I listened to the rehearsals today," Viktor commented as they went back and extinguished the candles and lamps. "That Siamese has taken quite a liking to you, it seems."

"He is nice, yes," Yuuri agreed. "Amateur artist. Good one, even."

"And he invited you for lunch," Viktor added as they went to bed. "Congratulations, you got yourself a sponsor and a decent one at that."

"As you said, he invited me for lunch." Yuuri blew out the candle and felt Viktor slipping under the blanket next to him. "Nothing more, I think."

"This is how it usually starts, though." Viktor's arms wrapped themselves around Yuuri. "Tell me how the food was, yes? I do miss some finer cuisine down here, sometimes."

"I will. If I can I will see that I bring you some sometime."

Viktor pressed a kiss on his temple. "You are too sweet."

They laid together in companionable silence, Viktor idly running his hands over Yuuri's neck and Yuuri playing with strands of his hair.

"Well, maybe you can inspire Yuri to finally work on that front as well. God knows he should have done so a while ago."

"He has no reason though, right?" Yuuri asked. "From what I can tell he is well off, financially, right?"

"Oh, he is," Viktor agreed. "Dear king Friedrich August has allotted quite a sum for him when he had his first big solo role and was successful. I think he saves up quite a bit of it."

"And the audience loves him," Yuuri continued, "at least as long as he only sings instead of talking to them."

Viktor chuckled.

"He should not be in need of a patron, is what I am trying to say."

"Right now, yes. But you cannot predict what will be tomorrow or next year or next month. We live in a fickle world, dear. And now even the times are fickle, what with all these revolutions people are getting up to."

"Right now it is pretty calm," Yuuri commented. "Not that I am too involved in politics, though, but there are no riots on the streets and I have yet to witness any assassinations happen here."

"Mood." Viktor shifted his weight a bit away from Yuuri. He probably laid on his back, staring up into the all-devouring darkness. "You know, this revolt in March came over from some other places. Baden, I think. And it didn't happen overnight, that was coming for a while now."

"Most revolts do. Slow development and then a big moment when everything gets kick started," Yuuri mumbled. "Wasn't very successful, though, was it?"

"No." The bed sheet rustled in a way that suggested Viktor shrugging. "Does not mean the thoughts behind it died down. How are you treated here, in general?"

The sudden shift startled Yuuri a bit. "Well, I guess. My landlady demands her rent on time and doesn't give you any second thoughts as long as you don't show up on the women's floors. About town..." He bit his lip. "People stare. Can't help that, so I mostly ignore it."

"And otherwise?"

"I sometimes get a remark. Johannes' sister – I told you about her?"

"A bit. What about her?"

"She said something about me looking exotic and that there are people who like that sort of thing. It was disturbing."

Viktor's hand reached out and touched Yuuri's shoulder. "I can imagine how this feels like."

"How?" Yuuri asked. "If you walked through the streets people would see a European man with a scar on his left side. Aside from that you will blend in perfectly. At least as long as you don't say anything and let them hear your accent."

If Viktor had noticed the tint of bitterness in his voice he gave no sign of it. "I grew up learning how to behave like a civilized, noble person so I would not offend any noble guest and friend of our Landlord with our serf manners," he said. "But no matter how well you could blend in, they always knew and they always let us know they knew. Talked about us in our presence as if we were cattle or furniture or maybe a painting they were assessing for purchase. Or at least short-term use. Asked whether we had the capabilities to wear the clothes we had or whether our stomachs could deal with the fine foods we got. We were not human to them, I guess. Or human, but not human like them." His hand still rested on Yuuri's shoulder. "It got a little better when we left Russia. As you said, we look reasonably Western enough. The fact that Yura and I have both a very comely appearance helped as well."

Yuuri recalled the speculations of his friends about Plisetsky and wondered whether Viktor was telling him the truth here, but he did not comment on it.

"But well, you also observed that this only worked as long as I don't let people hear me talk. Once they heard we are foreigners it started all over again. Yuri took great pains to shed his accent because of it. For Yakov it was probably worse. They do not like Jews much in Russia and they do not like Jews much here as well." Viktor sighed. "It is not exactly the same, but believe me, I can relate."

Yuuri leaned into the touch. "Sorry."

"Do not be." Viktor pulled him closer again. "I want to say, these uprisings were because people want a different life than they have now. Mostly they want to live in a country unified by language and culture. This is nice. It is really nice, but it also means that strangers might not be well liked. It is very likely even. And Yuri is a stranger here. He is Russian. And I wish he could be at home here and be Russian, but that would mean that he is accepted here with him being Russian. As things are now, would you say he is?"

Again Yuuri's thoughts wandered back to the talk from before. He shook his head, his hair softly rustling over Viktor's chest. "Don't think so." Then he added, "I guess I get why he hates these after-performance-parties so much."

"I never liked them much either. Too reminiscent of the parties our landlord threw back home. But the alcohol was always good. Made it bearable."

Yuuri chuckled. "Really now?"

"Yakov always wanted to rip my head off for drinking too much, but sadly, I never misbehaved badly enough for him to warrant such actions."

"I have a hard time imagining that," Yuuri admitted. "Makes me wish we had met sooner."

"Not really." Viktor ran a finger over the shell of Yuuri's ear. "I was a proper prick when I was younger. Ask Yura."

"He will say that you still are a proper prick, though, so I would take his word with a few dozens grains of salt," Yuuri chuckled.

"If things get bad here in Dresden – and they might get bad in some time – and he has to leave for whatever reason, a wealthy and influential sponsor – or one that's even only one of these two things – might be the very thing he needed to find new footing in a new place, a secure start, proper employment, a place to stay, all that. He should really start thinking about it by now."

"Apparently you did a lot of thinking for him on that front," Yuuri commented.

"Of course. Dresden is a fine place and well renowned, but ultimately it is only one slightly less small house among many small houses. He can do better than that. He is too good to stay here and waste his potential." Viktor paused and then continued, "The same goes for you."

Yuuri turned around to face him, despite the darkness. "Come again?"

"Not on my own," Viktor replied dryly and Yuuri's ears grew warm.

"You are terrible."

"I know. And I am not sorry. What I am, though, is right. You could do well in bigger roles and on bigger stages. Probably even the Scala. A triumphant return there, what do you think? You might not even need a sponsor if your guardian sees your progress."

"Would be good." Scratch that, it would be incredible. Celestino would probably be happy to have him back and in a state to give him bigger roles. Yuuri could return in triumph, rather than in shame of his failures.

It sounded almost too good to be true.

And of course there was a glaring catch.

Yuuri lifted a hand and found Viktor's face. "I'd love to."

"Then it is settled." Viktor pressed a kiss on his brow. "We have lots of work to do then."

"And what about you?" Yuuri asked. "What will you do?"

Viktor was silent for a long time, long enough for Yuuri to wonder whether he had offended him in any way.

Then Viktor let out a long, long breath. "I honestly do not know. I did not have any reason to think about it in years. Even if, it usually only served to depress me, considering the circumstances."

Yuuri chose his next few words very carefully. "Well… what would have to change for you to think about it again?"

"I would need to have a reason why. And hope that it won't blow up in my face."

Again Yuuri had to be careful with his words. "Well, according to you I will be leaving Dresden at some point. I would…" Damn words. Damn them.

Viktor was silent. Slowly, very slowly his hand wandered down Yuuri's left arm. He lifted Yuuri's hand to his lips, pressing a kiss on his palm. "I guess you are right," he finally murmured. "I _really_ should start thinking about it again."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The night went by in peace and silence and deep sleep, curled up around each other and into their blankets.

Yuuri could have stayed like this forever. He could have spent the rest of his life sleeping like this.

"Viktor! Oi!"

Alas, the peace was temporary.

"Viktor, you awake?!"

Next to him Viktor groaned and mumbled something Yuuri did not get. It sounded Russian.

"Morning," he mumbled.

"Is Katsuki with you?! Hope you are dressed!"

Yuuri opened an eye and spotted a single, small, fuzzy light. Slowly he grasped around until he found his glasses and put them on.

Viktor's features were unclear and mostly shrouded in darkness. "Yura's in a good mood."

"Delightful as ever," Yuuri agreed. "Morning!" he called.

Behind the screen the lights grew in number and finally one came around, held by Plisetsky, whose regular display of disgruntlement was exaggerated by the shadows his lamp cast on his face. "Urgh, you two."

"Morning." Viktor yawned and stretched, wrapping an arm around Yuuri's shoulders, leaning his head against Yuuri's temple. "Morning, love," he whispered, apparently low enough for Plisetsky to not hear them, but apparently the kiss he pressed on Yuuri's cheek did not escape his attention, since Plisetsky reacted with something that, as Yuuri decided, fit the description of a screech.

"Morning." He turned towards Viktor to kiss him as well. True enough, Plisetsky gave them another earful of his dulcet tones. Truly a star tenor.

"Cut it out you two, will you!"

"Same argument as against your suggestion that I should not walk around naked in my own living space," Viktor chirped. "I live here, I can do as I like."

"Urgh." Plisetsky waved. "Get dressed, you idiots! I set the table! Can't bear looking at you!"

"Aw, he's jealous," Viktor chuckled.

"Leave him alone, will you." But Yuuri was in too good a mood to raise his voice to something more than a gently chiding lilt.

"Alright, but only for now. You know he's too much fun to tease."

Yuuri made sure Plisetsky was on the other side of the screen before he pulled Viktor close to him. "Yes, you love teasing so very much. Maybe you want some experience with it next time?" He then leaned over to breathe the barest hint of a kiss against his lips. "Just a thought."

Viktor blinked at him and even in the dim light around them Yuuri could see that he was blushing.

He liked that view very much. "Let's get dressed, shall we, before he gets mad again."

Viktor blinked again as Yuuri got up and went on to change into clean underwear and shirt and yesterday's trousers before he went out to help Plisetsky with the breakfast.

The boy did not look at him. "Finally done?"

"Since yesterday night, to be precise," Yuuri answered, watching in amusement as Plisetsky turned beet red to the roots of his fair hair, even bringing some colour to the grey shadows underneath his eyes. "Thank you for your concern."

"Urgh, shut up!" Plisetsky grabbed the kettle and stomped to the back of the cave in order to fetch water.

Viktor, finally dressed (the pirate trousers again – one day Yuuri would buy him another proper pair, just so he could enjoy the view), came around the screen. "And I am supposed to not tease him?" He asked smiling.

"I at least do not try on purpose," Yuuri countered. "He finds the offence himself."

Plisetsky came back and busied himself with the kettle, giving Viktor the chance to take a close look at him.

"You look quite tired," he observed. "Had a long night?"

"Yes."

"Probably more than only one long night in a row, even," Viktor continued, his voice dangerously sweet and high-spirited.

Yuuri braced his ears for the screeching that undoubtedly would eventually ensue.

For now no screeching commenced, though. "Yeah, so? Not like you always were home on time once you started hanging out with some singers here." Plisetsky crossed his arms and turned to Viktor.

Yuuri had to agree; the boy looked like he was at least a week short of proper sleep. Did he have to be on stage tonight? Yuuri hoped not; maybe he could talk Viktor into tying him to the bed and get him to rest a bit. Very likely Viktor would not need much convincing for that.

"Yes, but Yakov always knew whom I was with and could be sure that I don't catch anything. How about you?" He gave Plisetsky a look that was almost completely genuine concern and the amused twinkle that accompanied it marred the sentiment only a little.

"What?" Either Plisetsky wanted to make sure he got Viktor's insinuation right or he was too tired to have caught on yet.

"I mean, I am glad that you show interest in romance - you are at that age - and I am happy that you found someone you want to spend your time with. I really am."

Yuuri watched as Plisetsky's face turned first even paler and then a truly ugly shade of purple and braced himself.

Viktor was either oblivious or did not care for the condition of his ears or his general well-being. "But I do hope you know how to keep yourself healthy. Is your partner alright? No diseases? If you notice any rashes or an itch, please go see a doctor, but I would rather you would not let it come to that."

"What…" Now Yuuri was sure Plisetsky had simply been too tired to catch up up until now. "What… you are… this is disgusting!" He shuddered for emphasis.

"Yes, talking about your love life can be a bit embarrassing, I know, but I am always here to listen." Viktor reached out to clasp Plisetsky's shoulder, but the boy slapped his hand away. "Urgh! Eat without me, I lost my appetite!" With that he turned around and stomped away.

Yuuri shook his head. "He will be unbearable for the whole day. I hope you plan on making up to me for this."

"I always do," Viktor declared, sounding somewhat miffed. Then he sighed. "So it is no blushing young romance that keeps him awake."

"Sure?" Yuuri sat down and started cutting slices of bread from the small loaf he had brought yesterday. "He seems the sort that denies possessing tender feelings of any nature."

"He would have reacted differently then. More embarrassed. Less disgusted."

Ah. So Viktor had caught on to Plisetsky's reaction. Yuuri cut off a few slices of cheese. "You could ask him directly."

"I tried." The words fell through the air like leaden weights, hit the ground and resonated.

Yuuri looked up. Viktor was sitting next to him, his head hanging low, face buried in his hands. His shoulders were hanging.

"I really tried, but he will not tell me. Or listen to me for that matter." He gently rubbed his temples. "Or why did you think I tried to get an answer by annoying him. It is not like he leaves me any choice in that matter."

"He is young. I guess it's normal to stay out late," Yuuri pointed out.

"Yes. It is. And I do not mind. I really do not. I would be glad if he finally developed something like a social life. Or the skills that are necessary for it." He laughed, short and slightly resigned. "But last time he was like that it turned out his new friends were of a mind to kill the king and... " Now he drew a somewhat ragged breath. "They got caught when things went south here. Some could escape, some got shot or hanged when the whole mess was somewhat over. It was in the papers."

"It was that bad?" Yuuri had known that the revolt had been the mess that revolts tended to be. He had not, however, known how deeply Plisetsky had been involved. Then again, why was he even surprised?

Viktor answered with a curt nod. "A few of them were stage hands. And then of course Richard Wagner." He spat out the name like something bitter. "Yuri had promised to not get involved, no matter his sympathies. Imagine how well that went. Long story short - I overheard him talking to one of his friends about setting a time and date. Neither time nor the fact that they discussed what sort of guns they would get pointed to a simple get-together. Yakov gave him some opium. Brought him down here for good measure."

Yuuri reached out, put a hand on Viktor's shoulder and then pulled him a bit closer to him.

Viktor flinched for a moment but then leaned against him. "Sorry."

"Don't be." Yuuri let him stay silent for a moment before remarking, "He is a bit of a difficult one, huh?"

"Always was. I would not want for him to be any different, but sometimes it is a bit..." Viktor struggled for a moment to find the right word. "Frustrating. Anyways, he was understandably angry. Well, not that he is ever not somewhat angry with me."

Yuuri ran a hand through Viktor's hair. "Mr. Feltsman seems to hold some sway over him, though."

He nodded against Yuuri's shoulder. "Hm. He does. Not much anymore, though. They still share quarters, however... " Now Viktor sat up. "Say, can you ask Yakov to meet me? He will know where and when."

Yuuri wondered what the use of this would be. What Viktor said did not exactly sound like Mr. Feltsman would know anything about what his protégé was up to either.

"I will," he said nonetheless, because what else could he say? "But only if you eat now. You can continue worrying when you have the energy for it." With that he quickly buttered up a slice of bread and put some cheese on it before pushing it towards Viktor. "There. Eat."

Viktor laughed again and this time it actually did sound like a laugh. "How did I get so lucky to have you?"

"Good voice," Yuuri answered promptly. "Good looks. Very interesting habits in your communication." He smiled. "Eat."

Viktor took a bite.

"I might add obedience to the list," Yuuri chuckled while taking a bite of his own bread, flushing it down with some tea.

Viktor's mouth twitched. "This depends entirely on what you demand obedience on."

Yuuri decided it was wiser not to answer this if he wanted to be upstairs on time for today's rehearsal. Instead he just smiled, finishing his bread and then starting to prepare another few slices he stacked up on another, two on two, cheese between them. He packed them into a small cloth and tucked them away before handing another slice of buttered bread to Viktor.

Viktor ate up and so did Yuuri.

"I have to go now." He got up and bent over to press a kiss on Viktor's cheek. "Please don't worry too much, yes?"

Viktor pulled him back down and kissed him on the lips."I'll try. Thank you."

And then Yuuri really had to go.

Chorus rehearsal went well enough, with them obediently singing their lines without missing out on one and then listening to what Mr. Feltsman had found faulty, repeating, listening again, repeating. As rehearsals went, it was not half as bad and it was certainly more enjoyable than any dress rehearsals for the _Vampyr_ they ever had. Yuuri already thanked his good stars for the fact that this monstrosity of an opera was only slated for a rather short run time. Less suffering for all of them.

Afterwards he chatted a bit with Johannes and Andreas who had discovered a new sugar spinner nearby and were describing the sweetmeats he could procure and how neither of them would have ever thought cinnamon or ginger to be so well suited for fruity confections.

Yuuri listened with attention, making a mental note to take a closer look. if the goods were not too expensive he probably would occasionally send a bag to Johannes. And get some for Viktor, who, despite all his protestations of the contrary Yuuri strongly suspected to have a distinctive sweet tooth.

He noticed Plisetsky leaning against a beam and glaring at them.

"Brr," Andreas declared, shuddering, "look at him. One could think he's aiming for the Lord Ruthwen. Without needing any stage make-up."

"Yes." Johannes nodded gravely. "And you noticed how he dashed off last night."

"If I was him I'd skip rehearsal today and sleep it off."

Yuuri shrugged. "He probably will do that only after having passed out and have Mr. Feltsman send him home."

"Sounds more like you than anything else," Johannes commented. "Alright, see you tomorrow!" He waved and turned around to leave.

Mr. Feltsman called, "Soloists! On spot! All of you!"

Yuuri hurried back out on stage, nodding a greeting to Sara Crispino in passing.

He went through his parts, listened to the criticism had for him and sang again, more to Mr. Feltsman's pleasure this time. Not that it meant too much, but it was good to hear that Mr. Feltsman saw improvement in him.

As soon as he was finished he went over to Plisetsky, who leaned against a beam and watched his peers labouring through their parts.

"Hello again. And good morning."

Plisetsky raised an eyebrow at him. "Started bad enough."

Yuuri shrugged. "Well, you said yourself, he is a bit of a handful on occasion."

"He's worse when he had..." Plisetsky squirmed quite a bit before he finished, "sex."

Yuuri felt his ears grow warm. "I am no judge of that. Yet."

Plisetsky squirmed again and it was almost amusing.

"You left without breakfast," Yuuri continued, digging into the pocket of his jacket. "Are you hungry?"

"What?! What – no!"

Of course, this was the exact moment Plisetsky's stomach decided to rumble. How else could it be?

Yuuri chuckled and procured the packet of bread and cheese he had wrapped earlier. "Here. You cannot sing on an empty stomach."

Plisetsky blinked, then looked at the packet and finally grabbed it. "You won't give me peace unless I eat, I suppose?"

"Exactly." Yuuri watched as Plisetsky unwrapped the packet and took a first bite of his belated breakfast. His face immediately relaxed.

"Never let anyone get between you and your breakfast," he advised. "No matter what, food."

Plisetsky nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, whatever." He ate in silence and with obvious appetite.

On stage, the rehearsals of the three principal players finished their last round and Mr. Feltsman clapped his hands. "Finished for today! Dress rehearsal at Friday! Be ready!" Their little congregation fell apart and Yuuri was gathering his things when Mr. Feltsman walked over to him. "Katsuki."

He flinched and then quickly straightened his posture.

Mr. Feltsman had his eyes run over him and then turned to Plisetsky. "You go ahead, boy."

Plisetsky shrugged and went off without even saying goodbye.

Mr. Feltsman looked up and down on Yuuri once more. "You have a corset?"

What? "No." Yuuri shook his head. "Never needed one."

Mr. Feltsman waved his hand sharply. "Wrong. You need one. For singing. It helps you sing."

Viktor had said something like that. Yuuri wondered if he had something to do with Mr. Feltsman's sudden idea.

"No, I don't have one," he repeated.

Mr. Feltsman kept his face even. "I see. In the Bohemian Alley is a store for men's undergarments. They sell some. Mass production. Good quality, though. Go there."

"I will look into it." Yuuri sighed. Mass production or not, corsets still cost money. Then he remembered. Checking that nobody was around to eavesdrop he said, lowering his voice, "our mutual friend wants to talk to you."

Mr. Feltsman raised an eyebrow.

Yuuri forced himself to breathe evenly. "He said you would know where and when."

"Do. Was surprised you call that twat my friend. He is lots of things. _Friend_ not one of them."

That was unexpectedly harsh, even for him.

"No children you have yet?"

Again Yuuri shook his head. "Dear God, no."

"Ah." Mr. Feltsman nodded again. "If you ever have - your children are not your friends." then he sighed once more. "Out. Eat or something. Performance tonight, be well rested."

With that Yuuri was dismissed and free to go about whatever business he had to go about.

A few hours later he was back, had sung in tonight's show and had actually managed to both do well and to remember afterwards what he had sung and done and how he had felt. That was probably a good thing. He hoped that it was a good thing.

The soloists took their bows to a rather lukewarm applause; the _Vampyr_ was most definitely not doing it for the audience on its third night of staging. Yuuri certainly could not begrudge them for it, although he had to admit that he felt bad for the soloists. They were front and centre of every performance and it was most certainly not their fault that the opera was a heaping pile of weirdness. Or maybe it was just the general current mood that was considering something like the _Vampyr_ a heaping pile of weirdness.

The soloists however would very likely catch at least some of the blame for a failed production and a few too many of these - many times one was enough - could very likely kill a so far very successful career.

At the very least Yuuri could be confident that _Undine_ would do nothing of the kind to him. And if his career indeed got nipped in the bud - well, nobody could prevent him from continuing to work as an unassuming, nondescript chorus singer, right?

The troupe came into the wings and immediately lost any smiles they might have held.

"Urgh," Mila grumbled, "That was the most polite applause I have ever heard."

"Which might be even worse than no applause at all." Sara Crispino sighed. "When there is no applause at all then we at least left _some_ impression. Like that, you will never know until the newspapers next day and even then it is not always sure." She turned to Andreas, who from the people of the chorus stood the closest to her. She was smiling again, friendly and genuine. "You all worked your hardest, so do not think this is in any way your fault."

"Wise words, wise words," Johannes Erhardt agreed. "Good night then, you all, have fun, you earned it!"

Mila smiled. "See you tomorrow. Andreas, you remember that you are supposed to practise the Huldbrand parts tomorrow?"

"Yes." Andreas' cheeks flushed. "Yes I do - I did! I still do!"

Both Mila and Sara chuckled in good humour.

"You apparently need sleep more than any of us," Sara commented. "Or whatever else you all do to unwind. Have a fun evening in any case!"

"You are very welcome to join us, you two!" Andreas quickly called, causing Johannes and Alexander to laugh to himself and Thomas to shake his head in disbelief at his brother.

"Dear Lord, no! This is really sweet of you, but…" Mila waved her hand. "You know how women need their sleep to maintain their good looks. We cannot lose our charms so early in our lives when there is our old age to consider and take care of."

Sara sighed and Yuuri was very sure he saw her jabbing Mila in the side. "In Mila's language this means that we will gladly join another time when we are not terribly tired and need to be up the next morning. Maybe on a Saturday? Or a luncheon on a Sunday?"

Andreas nodded quickly and this time Yuuri joined into the general chuckling. "Yes, yes, gladly." He cleared his throat. "Well, until then we bid you a good night as well."

Mila and Sara nodded and turned to leave. For the chorus it was the signal that they could leave now and it was high time as well. Yuuri was starving.

"Such wonderful women," Andreas sighed for the umpteenth time and poked at his dinner that had just been brought. So far his beer had been untouched. "Beautiful, talented and sweeter than anyone I've ever met."

The round around their table exchanged glances and eye rolls.

"So, who is it then?" Alexander finally asked, "The Babitch or the Crispino? Who do you like best?"

Andreas looked down on his plate with solemn pensiveness. "Both," he finally answered.

"Both," Johannes repeated.

"Yes. Both."

"You can't fancy two women at once," Thomas said. "At least not seriously and not to the same degree."

"Well, I can and I do," Andreas huffed, putting aside his fork and crossing his arms. "And I do it very well."

"Fancying someone usually doesn't work like that," Yuuri remarked. "At least according to my somewhat limited experience."

"Says the one with a girl," Alexander retorted.

Yuuri shrugged. "Doesn't mean that I had many fancies in my life." One, to be exact, two if he counted a violinist from the Scala orchestra. This, however, had lasted about three days before he had found out that the man was married and cheated on his wife with men and women alike and who showed a preference for dalliances with people from backgrounds that had had Yuuri fear for the health of his poor wife - and his own, had he ever had procured the guts to approach him. And then there was Viktor, but the feelings Yuuri harboured for him had pretty much immediately gone above and beyond a simple fancy. And he still doubted that he would have ever been capable of even slightly fancying two people at once, even if it had been less intense as the feelings Andreas appeared to harbour.

"Well, this only proves that the affections I hold as superior." Now Andreas was waving his finger. "See, if I felt the ordinary love of an ordinary man for one ordinary woman, I would be blind to anything and anyone else but her and declare the image I have of her to be far superior to who she actually is. However, as it is, there are two women whom I adore with equal fervour. My dedication to one does not blind me to the blessings the presence of the other can bestow on the world. My love is pure and transcending everything known to mankind. Also," and with that he finally took a bite, "no part of my love spoils my eternal adoration and dedication to the most democratic of all vegetables in the world. And let's face it, only a true, mature, rational love, such as the one I hold for both these women, is able to maintain this most precarious of balances."

They all exchanged glances and finally Johannes, who sat next to Andreas, pushed his tankard towards his hands. "There! Drink! For the love of God, please, please! Drink! You sorely need a drink to think straight again!"

"Ah, but Johannes, I _am_ thinking straight! Don't you understand?!" However, Andreas obediently took a sip of his beer. "I mean, obviously my feelings are well above anything strictly carnal as well - how could they not, when being caused by and directed at two such ethereal women? My Beatrice and my Laura, that is who they are!"

"Well, he obviously was not blind to reality, just as he had claimed," Yuuri chuckled over his pork cutlets, "although he apparently saw more flaws in both Miss Crispino and Miss Babitch than they actually possess. I mentioned to him that Dante's Beatrice was a bit of a mean one and rather self-obsessed and that Petrarca's Laura had no personality of her own at all and only served as both a blank slate and a base for some puns. Not to mention they were both dead. Poor Andreas spent the rest of the evening with finding new female figures of literature to compare them to."

Phichit had just been taking a sip of a very dry, German red wine and carefully put his glass away, swallowing hurriedly. "Oh dear, really?!"

A pair passed their table and shot them curious looks, probably wondering what they were doing here, being foreign and non-German all over the place.

Yuuri looked back down on his plate to avoid their gazes. "Yes, one should never mess with an Italian about our classics. We might be a bit lax about the Latin ones, but those precious few in Italian we take really seriously."

"I can see that." Phichit chuckled, shaking his head. "Not that we are any different, but I think every culture has classics they take more seriously than others and won't allow anyone to play around with."

"Oh, we play around with them plenty." Yuuri shrugged and took a bite of his potatoes. The inn they had their lunch at had been a good choice on Phichit's side. The vegetables were well-seasoned and not overcooked, the meat tender and the offered wines indeed drinkable. Also, while Yuuri would have never treated himself to a lunch of that price range, the money Phichit would spend on this lunch would be still low enough to not cause him too much guilt.

He carefully spiked up a few slices of carrot with his fork. "There are plenty of parodies of Petrarca's work, especially in regards to Laura's lack of personality. Dante's works are turned into street theatre or even small operas itself and they like to play up the comedy aspect in the _Divina_ _Comedia_ a lot. We just don't like it when people use our classics for comparisons that are incorrect."

Phichit nodded gravely. "I promise, I will not, never ever, misattribute Italian language classics for ill-fitting comparisons." Then he cracked a smile and Yuuri felt himself reciprocating and continuing as Phichit's smile grew into a hearty laugh.

Occasional glances from other patrons of the inn aside, this lunch was surprisingly enjoyable. Or maybe not surprisingly, considering the fact he was having lunch with someone who looked as foreign here as Yuuri himself - it helped indeed forming some sort of kinship Yuuri didn't have with his friends from the chorus or even with Viktor.

That aside, Phichit obviously enjoyed being in a good mood and putting others in the same, smiling, talking a bit about his work and asking questions Yuuri could answer in as much detail as he saw fit, spinning a conversation from there until Yuuri could not remember what they had started out with.

Well, Phichit was a businessman and an international one at that. Supposedly he had to be very good at talking. That he clearly enjoyed talking probably helped as well. Yuuri could see why his father had decided to send him abroad to take care of their international relations. It was easier to make business when your potential partner liked you and Yuuri found it very much impossible to not like Phichit.

"You have been asking when the dress rehearsals start, I recall," he now said after they both had sobered up. "Mr. Feltsman gave us the date. Come July 6th and I can be admired in full priesthood costume."

Phichit cocked his head. "You sound less excited than I would have expected. You seemed to have looked forward to it."

"Oh, I _am_ looking forward to it," Yuuri replied. "Don't be mistaken, I am pretty excited about my first solo. And it's not like I would doubt Mr. Feltsman's advice or go against it." Too much. He actually had not wanted to say that much.

Phichit's face twisted into curious smile. "But the advice seems to be ill-conceived, you think?"

Yuuri's ears grew warm. "I will not presume to criticise Mr. Feltsman. Let's just hope I will see in time that he is right in his orders."

"Aw, Yuuri, you are making me curious! What are his orders? Are they really that bad?"

Yuuri made a face. "I suppose not. He says I am to get myself a corset to wear for both rehearsals and performances. Supposedly it is to help me sing."

"How would that work? I think you need a lot of air to sing, but is a corset not supposed to..." He waved his hands, apparently searching for the right words.

"From what I have gathered from any woman who agreed to discuss her undergarments with me a side effect is that it regulates breathing," Yuuri said. "But they are used to it, I am not. I honestly wonder how it is supposed to work for me." He really did not, no matter how much Viktor insisted that Yuuri probably would benefit from wearing a corset when singing. Not to mention that Viktor most definitely had a somewhat more carnal interest in this cause of his.

He made a face. "Not to mention that these things cost money."

Phichit's reaction came in an instant. "Well, if it is about that I would be glad to help."

"No, no!" Damn. Another thing Yuuri had not wanted to mention, but here he was. "Please, no!"

"If you don't have the means to purchase a corset and you need one, I really would like to help you," Phichit insisted. "Really, it would be no problem. I have sufficient means and I would gladly put them to good use."

Some people turned around to them and Phichit blushed. "Oh." He sent a sheepish smile around. "Sorry." Lowering his voice he continued, "Really, I would be more than happy if you relied on me when you need help."

Yuuri shook his head. "I do not really need any financial help and I am not asking for it, really. I am sorry that I am making such a bad impression on you."

"You are not." Phichit shook his head. "Making a bad impression, I mean. You are an artist. As far as I know, there are not that many of your craft that can live with more than the most basic comforts without some form of assistance by an admirer."

Yuuri's ears grew hot again. "Well, I can live kind of well right now. I have a roof over my head and food accounted for and can keep enough money on the side to occasionally afford new clothes or some small luxuries. Hopefully with bigger roles a bigger income will come to grant me further improvement of my circumstances." He laid down his fork, then picked it up again, twirling it a bit, before again playing it on he table.

"But you are still not happy about the prospect of purchasing one?"

Yuuri shrugged. "Just because I have saved up enough money to afford one doesn't mean I did not have other plans for that money."

They were done eating and Phichit waved for the barmaid to pay.

Yuuri watched him as he handed her some bills and coins, cheerfully telling her to keep the rest.

"Oh my, thank you!" She smiled at them far more brightly than when they had first entered.

"What do you say to a little stroll along the Elbe? The air might be bearable near the water."

Yuuri nodded. "I follow your lead."

Phichit chuckled as they gathered their belongings and left the inn, not without the barmaid smiling even more as Phichit promised to come back soon.

"Ah, the power of money," he sighed, still smiling. "All of a sudden they will see you for the person that you are. I love it."

Yuuri smiled and fell into step next to him.

It was oppressively hot today, the sun glaring down on them with not a single cloud offering even remotely something like relief.

When they reached the riverbanks of the Elbe, the water was glistening like strings of diamonds, blinding them almost as much as the sun itself.

No wind whatsoever, but nonetheless the air was slightly lighter near the river, a little less stagnant, slightly sweeter.

Yuuri took a deep breath. "The Elbe was a good idea. Any longer in the city and I would have lost it with the heat, especially with the wine."

"Yes, that was not my smartest idea, admittedly." Phichit sighed. "In France you have a chance to get young, foaming _cidre_ when it is this hot. And of course England has its own variant of this to offer, but I have yet to find something like it in Germany. The Franks have their _Moscht_ ", he hissed the word in the soft, mouth-stuffed-with-wool fashion that was typical for the Frankish dialect. "But for some reason it won't grow on me like _cidre_ or cider did, I have no idea why."

"Amazing," Yuuri sighed. "Again apparently the French did something very well the Germans could only either copy well or do at the same time but not do it well?"

Phichit shrugged. "Who knows. Why you don't like the French?"

"I'm Italian." Yuuri shot him a sheepish smile. "It comes with the territory, I guess."

"Too bad, I quite like the French language. And literature. And..." Phichit stopped and then cleared his throat. "May I ask what you are saving up for?"

That was aprupt.

"You don't have to answer, of course, if you don't want," Phichit quickly added. "It is not important, I am just curious."

Yuuri pondered the question. He had had not really thought about how to spend the money he had saved up. Books maybe. A pocket watch, he could use one of those. New clothes were also always an option.

Or well, a new pair of trousers for Viktor. He looked good in proper trousers. Very good. Definitely better than in these pirate stripes he loved so much for whatever ungodly reason. He also apparently only possessed one pair.

In the end – mainly because "My lover's backside deserves some more flattering wrappings" was not a wise answer to give – Yuuri simply shrugged. "As I said, it isn't like I don't have the money."

Phichit nodded sagely, tapping his chin. "Well, obviously you will have to follow the instructions of your director," he commented.

"Never said I would not," Yuuri answered. "I would, in fact, like to not kill my career before it actually started. All I said was that I don't like it."

Phichit chuckled. "I see. Do you already know where to take your business?"

"Mr. Feltsman told me an address. I will take a look tomorrow after rehearsal. If I find something suitable I might take it right away and be done with it."

"That's the spirit." He smiled again brightly. "We already established that you need to tread carefully and do as you are told to help you career. Here is what I tell you!"

All Yuuri got out was a rather undignified "Ohar?" and he would have liked very much to bite off his tongue for it.

"You go to the store Mr. Feltsman told you and take your pick. So far this instruction is one you would follow anyways. Now here is the good part: I want you to give them my address – you do have my address?"

Yuuri shook his head.

"I'll write it down in a minute. Anyways, you go there, get yourself outfitted as necessary, give them my address and have them send the bill towards me."

"What... no, I can't!" Yuuri shook his head. "You can't do that."

"Sure?" Phichit hummed, "As far as I know this only requires the necessary financial means and contact between all parties involved. I believe I am capable of that. So why should I not?"

"No, really, I cannot ask that of you," Yuuri insisted. "You don't know me well enough for us to be considered friends yet, I can't possibly accept that."

"I would like it if you could consider me your friend," Phichit said. "Please?"

Apparently the only way to get Phichit to stop with that was to be extremely rude, but that was most definitely not the route Yuuri wanted to go.

Damn. He very definitely did not like this. Which was in itself hilarious, supposedly, the fact that someone offered him financial help and he did not want it. It was just that right now all Yuri felt was some tremendous amount of discomfort.

"I will not go along with it unless you allow me to repay you," he finally said. "I don't like being indebted to people, friends or not."

Phichit looked like he wanted to make a face at that, but finally nodded. "Alright. Can I set the repayment, though? Since I can gauge best what to me is the best value for the money spent and all."

Yuuri nodded. "Sounds fair."

"Great." Now Phichit was flashing him a smile again. "I would have asked you anyways, but since we have come to this agreement – I would very much like to draw your portrait once. Or paint."

Yuuri blinked. "Alright. Although I don't think my face to be all that interesting. You would get more dramatic art when working on someone like Plisetsky."

"Maybe, but I draw him mostly to take a record of how his face changes. He is still a boy growing up and changing so fast, it is dizzying. Last year he could still be confused for a girl."

Phichit sat down in the grass and opened his bag, pulling a folio out. "Here."

Yuuri sat down next to him as he was handed a few sheets of paper. They were all sketches, very detailed so, some landscapes and mostly people.

The very first was of a very pretty child, fair hair, large eyes and even when captured only in graphite appearing to possess a disgustingly rosy complexion.

"How did you get Plisetsky to hold still _and_ not scowl for long enough to get this done?"

"I was quick. And maybe he was in a good mood. Although he was always rather polite to me, but this is apparently not the norm?"

Yuuri chuckled. "You have no idea."

"I might draw him this fall. This picture was done in October and I am scheduled to be here again then." Phichit took the picture and put it back in his folio. "I would really like your portrait too. I never had a chance to draw a Japanese and your face is rather expressive. If you ask me that is always more fun to both look at and to capture than the general European idea of prettiness. Have you seen current pictures of what they consider pretty here? It all looks the same. Must be boring. And neither of these show any emotion too."

Yuuri leafed through some more sketches. Another one of Plisetsky, one he already knew, but this version was more detailed, with obvious work put into it. The boy looked like he wanted to yell at the person looking at him. Yuuri chuckled at the sight of it.

Other pictures showed members of the higher society of Dresden, regular patrons of the theatre. Another featured Mila Babitch laughing at a joke Contralo Anna Herzog was telling her. Yuuri had never talked to that woman, but she seemed nice enough.

Another featured a theatre that was clearly not Dresden, but Yuuri still recognised it. "Oh, you were in Naples?"

"Yes, a few years ago. I met Miss Crispino there the first time. What a nice surprise to find out she has transferred here." Smiling, Phichit leafed through his drawings and finally procured one that featured a younger Sara Crispino sitting next to a boy that looked strikingly like her. They were holding hands and smiling.

"I did this in Naples too. Two versions of this," Phichit explained. "One for her, one for Signore Crispino. You can tell they are twins?"

"Indeed." Yuuri smiled. "I have never seen him here, though."

"Yes, apparently they had a bit of a fall-out. Miss Crispino said he is in New York now and handed this one back to me. Too bad, they were thick as thieves back then."

Carefully Yuuri sorted the sheets again. "Naples, France, England, German countries, you travelled a lot."

"Mostly on behalf of the family business. My father managed to expand our business into an international trading company, but when I started out travelling in his place I had less chance to see something of the country than I would have liked. It got better with the years, though."

That sounded tough, but also intriguing. Yuuri had not travelled much outside of moving from Rome to Naples to Sicily, back to Naples and finally Milan with Celestino. And of course his venture here, but that was hardly comparable to the scope Phichit must have experienced. "When did you enter your family's business?" he finally asked.

"Pretty young, I suppose, but I doubt that is anything unusual with family businesses. I started assisting my parents with the books when I was twelve. Before that they had me learn to evaluate our goods on their quality and before _that_ my very first duty was to do watch walks around our store houses. We had trouble with rats back then and my parents were not sure whether the cats they had gotten were doing the job. Ironically, I was the one who had suggested to get some feline help."

A soft breeze arose, carrying the scent of water to them.

Yuuri took a deep breath. "Ah, finally."

"Summer here really puts pressure on you," Phichit agreed.

"Thank goodness for stone buildings being somewhat cool. So the cats didn't do their job?"

"Oh, they did, very well even." Phichit waved his hand. "But after two weeks we still had a few rats and my parents figured I should pick up the slack of the cats. They figured it helped my judgement and decision making and strengthen my sense of responsibility."

Yuuri chuckled. "Did it work?"

"I loved the cats even more. And yes, all in all it worked. At the moment, however, I more than anything I felt incredibly important and mighty as I wandered through the storehouses and around them in the middle of the night. And most definitely not afraid, oh no, I wasn't, no matter the talk of break-ins that were making their rounds at that time and don't you ever suggest I was afraid of ghosts or spirits." He chuckled. "Because I would have been incensed if anyone had suggested otherwise back then. And no matter how scared I was, I still did my duty and felt very, very brave for that."

Now he procured two apples from his bag and handed one of them to Yuuri.

Yuuri took it. "Thanks."

"Not for that. Anyways, there I was, traipsing around the storehouse, the air was heavy with the scents of anise and cinnamon bark and cloves and I was the bravest little warrior in all of Siam until!" For emphasis Phichit took a bite of his apple and chewed it down. "Until there was a noise!" He waved his arm dramatically and Yuuri humoured him by gasping over dramatically.

"You can imagine how my blood rushed, my heart beat. I stood perfectly still, listening, listening, listening..." He let his voice trail off, undoubtedly for dramatic effect. "And then, there it was again! And it came closer! You can imagine how my heart was beating!"

"In vivid detail," Yuuri confirmed, chuckling.

"Then it got away and I followed it, all the way to one of the store rooms - there I heard it again and this time from inside the door. So I slowly, slowly opened the door, sneaked in and held up my lamp in hopes of getting a glimpse of the culprit and then!" His hand shot up, causing Yuuri to flinch backwards. "It attacked me, tackling me right in the face that I fell backwards, right into a sack of cinnamon. Weeks afterwards I still smelled like it. Whenever I am here in winter this memory comes right back to me, considering how much the Germans love to spice their winter sweets."

"I fear I have not been here long enough yet to e a judge of that. But I am looking forward to try it."

"Wait until you have tried their cinnamon stars. Delicious. And I don't know whether you have something like mulled wine in Italy, but the German version if it is a delight." Phichit grinned. "They have a nice Christmas market here in winter. I hope I can make it here in time for it." Phichit stretched. "Anyways, I grabbed the beast and there as a vicious hiss and when I finally could shed some light on on it – it was one of the cats. Poor thing was scared for life."

"Oh no!" Yuuri laughed. "Poor thing indeed, but probably it only had itself to blame. With cats it's always the same. There are always some in the Scala and they always end up making a mess."

"Please, tell!" Phichit handed him another apple. "There are not nearly enough funny cat stories going around."

Yuuri chuckled and of course, gladly provided him with them. Starting with a black cat getting into the stage make-up.

Yes. Talking to Phichit was incredibly easy and incredibly enjoyable.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

A week later Yuuri was in possession of a corset, paid for by Phichit, and Viktor of a new pair of trousers, paid by Yuuri (and thus, in a way, by Phichit too) and the preparations for the first dress rehearsal were well underway.

Also he stood in his very own dressing room, at least his own for now. It was small and with its dark furnishings and pale blue carpet rather standard issue for the Dresden theatre, a far cry from the individualized quarters of Plisetsky or the lavish suites that Yuuri knew Sara Crispino, Johannes Erhardt and one or two other lead soloists inhabited.

But it was the first dressing room ever he could call his own and the very thought was making him slightly giddy.

Less giddy he was about wearing the corset, despite the fact that Mila, bless her, had agreed to lace him up and explain what she was doing and how she was doing it. The lacing took his breath away and the explanation made Yuuri's head spin, and neither in a pleasant way.

"That should do it," Mila, already in costume (which was a bit big for her; the waist had been taken in with a few stitches) declared as she finished lacing him up, tying the cords to a firm knot on the small of Yuuri's back. For good measure, she gave his back a pat. "How do you feel?"

Yuuri took a tentative breath. Despite his previous, mostly surprised gasps it was surprisingly easy, since Mila had laced the corset into a V shape down his back, leaving his chest only moderately constrained. "Good. Thank you."

It still felt weird being put into that cage.

Yuuri tried to bend down and found out – much to his frustration – that it was a lot harder than he would have expected. "Urgh – how can you _move_?!"

"Practise," Mila shrugged, shaking her head so that her long braid swished over her back like a fiery rope. "My mother insisted on me wearing one form or another of stays from a very young age and I got used to it. At least she never wanted me to lace too tight. _That's_ unpleasant."

"I can only imagine," Yuuri mumbled. "Thank god I am not a woman."

"You bet. But then again you would have your pick of suitors. Wealthy men like Asian women. Exotic concubines and such. Guess why half of Sara's sponsors throw so much money at her and like to take her out when she lets them. An Asian would be even busier." She laughed. "I would so hate you for that. But then again you would have no time to sing anymore and I would rarely ever see you, so I would have no chance to be mean to you anyways."

Yuuri shuddered. "You can be mean?"

"Eh. It's a tough business. I think anywhere else I could grow into a massive bitch, but here – not so much. We stick together too much and the person capable of wanting to sabotage Sara has to be born yet, I think." She again slapped his back, laughing. "Also, you are a man, so our sponsor's interests in us vary considerably. No competition there and you probably have to spend less time on fending off an overeager idiot who thinks he's entitled to more than your time, company and occasional artistic offering at a party he is throwing."

Yuuri made a face. "You know what – I will donate three times the amount I usually give this Sunday, just to thank God three times over that I am not a woman."

"Do so. And while you're at it, ask him to change a few things down here, will you?"

"One of the changes should be a banishment of corsets. The lacing takes forever, I know of so much I could do with that extra time."

Yuuri laughed. "I see what can be done. No promises."

"Thank you." Mila ran a finger over the fabric on Yuuri's side. "You know, marine blue suits you. When you get a new suit, consider it to be in this colour."

"Thank you. I might do so." Yuuri quickly turned his head away, so Mila could not see his cheeks turning a bright red.

Of course, Mila saw it anyways and her face split into a broad, cat-like grin. "Suggestion from someone?"

She was right. The colour had been Viktor's suggestion the moment Yuuri had informed him of Mr. Feltsman's order, which he had agreed with rather enthusiastically, whispering possible colours for the damn thing over Yuuri's skin, weaving them into his hair until he had him in pieces at last. "Dark blue is it then," he had chuckled into Yuuri's thigh, "Yes, that would be a lovely colour on you. Midnight. Or marine. You look good in such dark, intense shades."

So marine blue.

Yuuri nodded and Mila grinned. "Whoever suggested it – good taste."

"And a thing for this stuff I fear," Yuuri sighed, running a hand over his significantly firmer and slimmer waist. "Urgh."

"You don't like it?"

"Not at all," he confessed.

"Good for you that you won't have to wear it again until opening night. Unless of course you need practise to adjust your breathing."

Yuuri shuddered and maybe, just maybe did so a tad overdramatically. "Perish the thought. Thank you for the motivation, now I definitely will outdo myself."

She chuckled. "Always glad to help a fellow out. Better hurry now the guys from the costume Department hate to be kept waiting."

Yuuri threw on his shirt and jumped into his trousers and shoes and then hurried through the corridors while buttoning up his waistcoat. He had to leave the theatre through one of the many back entrances and enter a small side building that stored - aside of smaller musical instruments, old financial records and other organisational paperwork - the costume department, along with a dizzying collection of wigs and a small tailor's workshop.

He rushed to the second-to-left room on the ground floor that was labeled "Costume Fitting - _Undine_ " and knocked. The door opened with gusto and a rather broad, sun-tanned man stared down at him. "Name and role!" he demanded, ushering him in. "Say! We don't have all day!" The way his short hair bristled and stood up had Yuuri consider it quite possible for him to suddenly start shooting lightning at him and he hurried in. "Katsuki, Yuuri. Role is Pater Heilmann!"

The man nodded. "Martin Freudenberg."

"Mother!" A little girl's voice called and Yuuri saw its auburn-haired, pig-tailed source peeking around the man's waist, "the Priest singer is here!"

From the back of the room - unadorned, simple and full with racks loaded with costumes - there were steps. A moment later a young woman showed up, as auburn-haired as her presumed daughter and dressed in spring-green linen. "Thank you, Klio, but weren't you supposed to sort the buttons?"

The little girl giggled.

"Shoo, off you go. And tell Melete I need her."

The girl dashed off and the woman turned to Yuuri. "Sorry. You're the new soloist, right? We heard some things about you. Come, come, try on your costume." She led him through the racks and was soon joined by another girl – although Yuuri could only guess that she was not the girl from before based on the fact that she wore a different dress and her hair in one single braid rather than pigtails. She held a measuring tape in her small hands that was yellowed with age and use and moved as easy under the woman's hand as she unrolled it. "I'm Lena Freudenberg, you met my husband Martin. We run the costume department, so if you have performed here already, you also have worn some of our costumes."

Probably. Yuuri had never set foot in here before. Since they didn't have to do much dancing, the costumes for the chorus did not have to be a perfect fit and were usually just brought for them to pick something out.

But hanging on the racks between other costumes Yuuri did spot some vestments from the _Wildschütz_ , indeed. "Pleasure."

Mrs. Freudenberg smiled at him. Sunny personality, Yuuri guessed. "You mind to get rid of your outer garments and try on this?" she now asked, holding up a black frock.

Yuuri hesitated.

She raised an eyebrow. "Granted, I got them all at once, but still, one does not have three daughters from doing nothing."

That was true. Also Yuuri had stood in his underwear in front of Mila today and he had survived that ordeal as well.

Not to mention that he was wearing an additional layer of clothing.

Then again, there was also a child present. He glanced to the little girl who looked at him with a curious twinkle in her eyes.

"And my girls have seen men in their long-johns as much as I have," Mrs. Freudenberg added. "Don't run around naked around them, though. They will spread word through the whole theatre and no stagehand ever will let you hear the end of it." She sighed. "I sometimes wonder why I don't make use of the switch more often."

"Because you love us, mother, and don't like to hear us crying and because we are very well behaved," her daughter pointed out. Apparently it was true, since Mrs. Freudenberg smiled and ruffled her hair.

With a sigh Yuuri let go of waistcoat, shirt and trousers.

Mrs. Freudenberg let her eyes run up and down on him. "Alright. You will be wearing that thing for performances as well?"

"Yes. Orders."

She nodded. "So we'll probably have to take it in around the waist a bit anyways – this is how you gonna wear it on stage?"

Yuuri looked down on himself. "I guess. I had someone lace it for me and she said this works."

"Then we will go with it. Notify us when you need to wear the corset looser, so we can adjust."

"I will, thank you." Now Yuuri finally grabbed the frock and pulled it over his head.

From the front of the room he heard Mr. Freudenberg grumble to someone who apparently had just showed up as well.

"Good..." She wandered around him, looking up and down on him. "You have pretty slim shoulders. Take this off, we have another smaller one."

Yuuri followed her order and took another frock.

This one sat a bit tighter when he buttoned it up.

"Better," Mrs. Freudenberg nodded. "Yes, this will do. Arms out!"

Yuuri again obeyed.

"Melete, can you fetch the black yarn?"

"Yes, mommy." The girl turned around and started digging through a very large, multi-layered sewing box while her mother unrolled the tape and measured up Yuuri's arms, folding up the sleeves a bit.

The girl handed her a needle carrying a bit of black thread.

"Thanks, dear." She put a few stitches into the sleeves and then bent down to pull together some fabric at his sides. "Pins."

Melete handed her some and she fixed one of the gatherings in Yuuri's left side. Then she stitched the right one before finishing up the job on the left. "That should do it. Yes, looks good. Alright, that's it. You can go."

Yuuri quickly undressed and changed back, just as two young voices, very similar in tone called, "Mother, Yuri Plisetsky is here!"

"Send him over, girls, thank you!" Mrs. Freudenberg called back. "These are only provisional stitches for the first dress rehearsal. Be careful to not tear them too much and bring the frock back when you are done so I can fix it up properly."

"I will, thank you." He quickly climbed back into his trousers as Plisetsky came over, escorted by the first little girl and another one, who, again, looked just like her, with her hair tied up high on her head the same way her mother wore it.

The bloody corset hampered his movements a bit, but he still managed. God help him if he ever willingly wore the stupid thing tighter than he did now.

"Thank you again. See you later." With that he left, frock over his arm.

Back in his dressing room he again changed back into the frock and then headed towards the stage, where most of the chorus and the female soloists were already gathering.

Some greetings were exchanged, Andreas and Alexander loudly and gratuitously commented on Yuuri looking like he was about to recruit some sweet, innocent maidens for Catholicism.

"The best young maidens are catholic anyways," Mila commented dryly. "Look at me."

That earned her a round of chuckling.

Plisetsky joined them, suppressing a yawn. "Morning."

A short while after him August joined them all smiles and good mood. "Hello, wonderful day for a dress rehearsal, isn't it?"

"It is indeed," Sara smiled her usual, delightful smile. "Are you ready for it?"

"I always am." August did something like a bow and then turned around for everyone to admire his costume – grey, shimmering silk that matched both Sara's water-fair dress and also emulated the look of plated armour.

It looked impressive, indeed.

Thomas turned to Andreas. "Aren't you supposed to be dressed too?"

"I am." Andreas looked down on himself, earth spirit through and through.

"You are not," Johannes argued, softly enough for August not to hear. Yuuri walked over to them, just as Johannes continued, "You're the understudy for him – which is interesting, because neither of you two have ever understudied any big role before, but that's Mr. Feltsman for you. I bet you're supposed to sing through the Huldbrand parts as well today."

"Then I can sing in this costume and then head over to the Freudenbergs and ask whether they can fit me." Andreas shrugged. "Not like it would be necessary anyways."

"Sure about that?" Alexander nodded to August, who was by now trying to chat up Johannes Erhardt. The man looked supremely uncomfortable.

"Is he drunk?" Yuuri wondered in a whisper. "He acts like me when I'm drunk."

"Nah," Johannes denied, "you're a lot less touchy-feely."

"With you maybe."

They chuckled at that, even Johannes.

"Your poor girlfriend," he said.

August, having failed to chat up Johannes Erhardt, now turned to Plisetsky, but the boy just scowled at him and stalked away.

Yuuri found that he liked him better and better every day, despite his character.

"I think he's overly exited at worst," Alexander said. "Maybe had a glass of wine to calm his nerves, but that's it."

"Then he is not drunk enough," Johannes declared.

The ballet dancers, clad in silver, blue and green, appeared and one even smiled at Yuuri. After a bit of squinting he recognized the girl who had been his dance partner during the _Wildschütz_ and returned her greeting with a nod.

Below them the orchestra took their positions.

Yuuri glanced to the hall with its many empty boxes and almost completely empty seats; only a few of the front seats were occupied by some dedicated patrons who wanted to see the first dress rehearsal. He spotted Phichit the same moment he himself was noticed.

Phichit sent him a small wave (presumably he was smiling, although Yuuri could not really tell without his glasses on) and Yuuri responded in kind.

Also Mr. Feltsman showed up. He only took one look at them. "All in costume? Good. Very good. Hopefully not only good thing to happen today?!"

Hopefully not indeed, Yuuri mused, as they took position.

Johannes Erhardt and August took their place.

They all fell silent.

And then the orchestra swept over them with the overture.

The stage lit up, bright enough for Yuuri to see in detail what was going on without having to squint too much.

Andreas and Johannes Erhardt ran over the stage, looking frantically around for Sara Crispino, who was now ushering to her own position.

"Ach Undine, holde Kleine!" they called out together. Their voices didn't mesh well and sadly didn't even offer an interesting contrast, but they had too few scenes together for this to be of any importance.

"Höre doch und komm' ins Haus! Kehre wieder! – Nachts im Haine wohnet Spuk und wilder Graus!"

The scene played out. The fisherman's wife commented on her foster daughter Undine's unruly nature, a continuation of the search and an explanation of how Undine had happened to come into the fisherman and his wife's care, all intercut by the chorus of water spirits. Yuuri, singing these parts with the rest of them, made a mental note to accompany Andreas back to the Freudenbergs to get a costume large enough to be thrown over his priest's smock for whenever he was to sing a scene in the chorus and to give back the one he was actually assigned.

Then, after a scene between Undine, the water spirits and her uncle Kühleborn, the girl in question finally was found by Huldbrand and at this point August and Sara had their first instance of singing together.

August audibly gasped as Sara turned around to face him. "Was schau' ich dort auf dem Felsenufer?"

Sara, smiling the sweetest of smiles answered with an artful tremble in her voice,"Ja ich bin es."

"Vertrau' ich der süßen Traumgestaltung?" August asked, stepping closer, offering her his hand.

"Ja ich bin es," Sara confirmed, her smile growing brighter with every word she sang. "O nah' dich mir, du holder schöner Mann."

The spirits attempted to keep them apart and Yuuri - frock be damned - stood among them, cursing Huldbrand with all their hearts. "Zurücke – zurück!"

Indeed August remained where he was, rather than coming closer to Sara. "Mich schwindelt's," he declared, sounding ill, "ich schwanke!"

"Verblind und erkranke!" Yuuri hissed among them.

Another exchange later Sara's Undine had enough and shooed them away. "Verstumme, schändliches Gewürme!" Yuuri would have never thought her to be able to sound angry. Commanding, yes definitely, but anger would have been the last emotion he would ever had connected with Sara Crispino, acting or not. "Verschwind' alsbald! – wer hat dir das erlaubt?" And then she turned back around to her Huldbrand, all smiles and sunshine again. "Sie sind schon fort, mein Lieber, nun trotze kühn der Fluth."

August made a show of looking slightly disturbed before collecting himself and purring, "Dir Engel gegenüber, wem bräche da der Muth?"

Their duet commenced. They were joined by Undine's parents (much to the girl's chargrin).

The scene would soon close and then Yuuri's scene would be due. He slowly retreated from the group and disappeared in the left wing, waiting for his cue.

The stage darkened. The small curtain fell. The orchestra played through to cover the soft shuffling on stage as scenery background and props were changed.

Yuuri put on his glasses, just to be sure, and went to his spot.

Sara and August were already kneeling for their wedding ceremony; Yuuri could see their silvery garments shimmer in the semi-darkness.

He also could see Sara furrow her brow. "Take my hand now or Mr. Feltsman will notice. I can imagine better things than being yelled at."

"That would imply something. As if he had touched her before marriage," August argued, "and I won't stand for that."

Sara rolled her eyes and Yuuri, tucking away his glasses again, heard her mutter something in her Neapolitan dialect that he was half-sure translated to something along the lines of "Goddamn Protestants."

Most of Yuuri's friends here were Protestant, but in this particular case he could not help but agree with her.

"Yuuri, help me, will you?!"

The music swelled and the curtain rose.

Yuuri noticed that their tiny, tiny audience listened and watched with rapt attention. Well, at least any dressing-down they would receive today would wait until the spectators were gone.

Sara finally relented and held her hands, palm against palm, up like in prayer.

August did the same.

Yuuri counted the beats until he set in. " Euch segne der, der einzig segnen kann," he began. "Mit besten Segen heut und immerdar." Amazingly enough the corset did what it was supposed to do. As he stood above the couple his back was straight, his chest wide, his breathing even and deep. His voice was deeper and fuller like that as well. "Und führe froh hinaus, was froh bgann!" With that he took Sara's and August's hands and folded them into each other. "Nun küßt Euch beyd, ihr seyd ein bräutlich Paar!"

It took August only a moment of staring before Sara gave his hand a squeeze and he sang, turning to her. "Musst ja nicht so scheu, süße Taub', erbeben. Hin fließt unser Leben nun in Lieb und Treu'!"

They sang together again and again were joined by Undine's parents.

Yuuri as the priest reminded them to be faithful and kind to each other to maintain their happiness in life. "Halt an Lieb' und Treue fest, du liebend' Paar. Macht ja Lieb und Treue alles Hoffen wahr." Yes, he could do well with that. The corset was indeed a help for his baritone. He still didn't like it much.

The bass playing the water spirit Kühleborn stood at the side, in Yuuri's back. He could hear him from behind. "Menschenvolk, närrisches, trügrisches, herrisches, tolles Geschlecht! Freust dich wohl recht?"

They all together sang in fear of the storm Kühleborn had brought with him, angry about Undine's marriage to a human man. "Wehe, was wanket, was rauschet am Fenster! Weichet von hinnen, ihr nächtigen Gespenster."

Yuuri made sure to take a step back and actually falter a bit as he asked for a place to rest after that bit of excitement (and possibly because he would not be able to leave the house in the midst of a storm). "Führt mich zur Lagerstätte – mich schwindelt's hier und graust."

He was put to rest and - waiting in the wings - listened as Undine confessed her true nature as a water spirit, lacking a soul, and the rules that stated that she would have to kill with her own hand any lover who betrayed her. It was touching to listen to and at least for the moment one was tempted to believe Huldbrand would stay faithful to his new wife.

He came out again and Sara looked up, flinching away as her character was quite startled by the pater being awake and having heard her confession.

Yuuri smiled and raised a hand. "Nun kommt zu vollenden, was glücklich begonnen. An heiliger Stätte, da will ich Euch trau'n."

Sara's body relaxed at his words. She looked to August and actually conjured up a smile despite August doing no such thing. Nonetheless they sang together their agreement. "So sey denn die Reise, die freudige, begonnen. An heiliger Stätte, da sollt ihr uns trau'n."

It went well. Yuuri sang through his parts, voice firm and full and the words securely in his mind and easily on his tongue. He slipped away to sing in the chorus when his – for the moment – last line as Pater Heilmann was sung and returned to his role to remind Huldbrand to not break his vows to Undine. And then, yes indeed, then it was over.

"Süßes Wähnen, schaut voll Andacht da hinein," they lamented all together as Huldbrand accepted his death by Undine's hand and died happily to be with her, "Möchte bey Undinen seyn. Gute Nacht, alle Erdensorg und Pracht."

The last note was sung and the last sound hung in the air for a little longer.

And the curtain fell.

Yuuri let out a breath. That had went well. Very well, actually. And he even remembered it.

"That was really good," Alexander commented next to him. "I mean you sounded better than before in rehearsals anyways, but this was really good."

Yuuri smiled. "Thank you. And you don't know how hard I worked to get there." Viktor, after all, was a very strict teacher.

"I have an idea. Curtain call, get ready to get out."

Yuuri rolled his eyes. "We really have to practise that every time as well, huh?"

"Yes." Alexander gave him a shove that sent him out on stage, the same moment Plisetsky stepped out on the other side of the stage.

The took their bows and then places at the side.

Being the most minor roles they stood quite on the sidelines, the fisherman and his wife on Yuuri's side, Berthalda and Kühleborn on the side of Plisetsky.

In the middle they had left some room and the moment the chorus had taken their place behind the soloists, August and Sara came out, looked around and curtsied and bowed.

It was over. The first dress rehearsal was over and done with and it had gone remarkably well.

Yuuri let out a deep breath. He hadn't messed up. He had done well. Or at least he had not done too bad, right?

Mr. Feltsman had listened carefully to the whole rehearsal, making notes throughout it all. Now he came up to them.

"Chorus. We need to practise. Sing with more energy. You sound tired! Tomorrow we practise!"

The chorus mumbled something in agreement.

The ballet dancers ushered off now to hear the verdict of their instructor.

Yuuri listened as Mr. Feltsman launched a critique on Plisetsky's lackluster performance. "If you too tired to sing properly, boy, get sleep! Lots of sleep. Sleep is good for you!"

Plisetsky made a face at that, but was wise enough not to argue.

Mila in turn was advised to be less dramatic and also show more affection towards Huldbrand, rather than being so interested in the friendship her rival Undine was offering her.

He had less complaints about his two bass singers, just grunting to the freelance singer playing Kühleborn to work on his volume modulation. "Not good if you yell Undine into submission. Won't work and spoil idea you two like each other."

Finally he turned to Yuuri, letting his eyes wander up and down on him. "Wearing corset, are you?"

Yuuri quickly nodded.

"Good. Sounds better. You used to it already, also good. Not much extra work on that needed. You work hard." He nodded gruffly. "Now work on your acting. Stronger."

Again Yuuri nodded. "I will work on it."

"Good." He turned around and clapped his hands. "Done for today!"

The cluster they had formed now dissolved and their small audience got up from their chairs to come backstage to them.

The moment they themselves got there, a few boys and three girls, all somewhere between fourteen and sixteen, stormed towards them. Yuuri watched with amusement as the girls started looking Sara, Mila and their Duchess singer Elise Herfurth up and down, lifting their arms and inspecting seams before nodding and following them to presumably their dressing rooms.

He stopped chuckling when a boy stood before him, staring. "Hello."

Quickly he put his glasses on, enjoying the fact that he could perceive the world around him with clarity once more.

"So," the boy said and he spoke quite slowly, "the clothes are still good? Everything fine?" He also gestured towards the hems and sleeves.

Yuuri nodded. "Yes, I think they are fine. I understand and speak German perfectly well, but thank you for your consideration."

The boy looked slightly taken aback but then continued, "Are the shoulders," he proceeded to hug himself to show which area of the costume he meant, "Are they good? Not too tight? Not too loose?" He still spoke annoyingly slow.

Well, maybe he _was_ a bit slow.

Yuuri forced himself to smile. "Yes. Everything is perfectly alright. As is my grasp on the German language, as you can hear."

The boy stared at him once more and then shrugged. "You bring," he gestured walking with this fingers, "the costume", he pointed at the priest frock Yuuri was still wearing, "to the costume department. For fixing. Fixing."

By now Yuuri was convinced that the boy was either incredibly dumb or incredibly gifted at playing dumb.

Either way, he had more important matters at hand and thus he simply shrugged, nodded and then turned to leave for his dressing room.

Taking off the smock without tearing the stitches Lena Freudenberg had made was an effort, but thankfully Yuuri was a patient man, at least with clothes that were not his, that had stitches to be mindful of and that didn't annoy him with their mere presence on his body.

He stared down on his corseted stomach with a flare of utter loathing in his throat. Putting the stupid thing on had been a hassle. Now taking it off would be yet another nightmare. The clerk who had sold Yuuri the corset had shown him how to lace himself up (not that it had helped much) and how to take it off again. That had looked easy enough and bracing himself he sucked in his stomach as much as he still could and then pulled both sides of the planchet together.

The upper and lower three hooks opened. The middle four stuck together and sucking in another breath, pulling the damned thing together again.

The middle hooks came undone the same moment the upper hooks entwined again.

"Grah, damn, damn – fuck it!" He sighed, breathed in, breathed out – and then tried again.

A few more fumblings later it finally, finally came loose.

The sudden freedom flooded over Yuuri's body and had him stumble forward, keeling over his vanity, gasping.

Was _that_ what was supposed to be so good about a corset that Viktor liked them so much? Well, alright, Yuuri could see that point but surely there was no need to force yourself into the bloody thing and wear it for hours on end just for the experience of taking it off, right?

There was a knock, just as he rolled the corset up to a tight bundle to put it away.

Yuuri flinched. He might have squeaked softly. A visitor had not been on the list of things he had expected today. "Yes?" he then called, "who is it?"

"It's me, Phichit!"

Yuuri stepped into his trousers. "Come in!"

The door opened and Phichit entered just as Yuuri had shrugged on his shirt and started buttoning it up.

"Hello, I'm sorry..."

"Oh, no." Phichit shook his head. "I can wait outside until you are done?"

"I almost am." Yuuri cleared his throat. "How did you like the rehearsal?"

"It seemed to go well." Phichit beamed at him. "Dress rehearsals usually go pretty crazy I hear, but this one was performance ready if you ask me."

"Let's just hope the next rehearsals go just as well. Maybe even get better." Yuuri took the liberty to stretch his shoulders.

"You were wearing a corset today?" Phichit asked. "I paid the bill two days ago. Would have thought you would go for something more expensive."

"No need for that. The one I got is perfectly fine. The colour is even, the material is good, it has no frills that would show through the outer garments and most importantly it is durable and hopefully will do me service for a long time."

"Too bad you have taken it off already." Phichit batted his eyelashes at him. "Would you show me?"

"Uh... sure." It figured, Yuuri supposed. Phichit had paid for the thing. Yuuri grabbed the corset and unrolled it again, holding up.

Phichit came closer. "I still maintain my position that you could have picked something fancier, but yes, it looks good to me."

Yuuri shrugged. "I wear it under my costume. Nobody will ever see it on my body."

Phichit mumbled something under his breath that Yuuri was half sure to understand as "What a pity".

What?

He cleared his throat. "What can I do for you?"

"Oh, right." Phichit's face shifted as if he had just remembered the reason for his being here at all. "I wanted to ask for some of your time. Lunch. Or dinner. Dinner would actually be preferable."

Yuuri nodded before he realized he was doing it and then shrugged. "Dinner sounds nice, yes."

Phichit's face lit up. "I know you have a busy schedule, when would it be good for you?"

He thought about it quickly. "I am, rehearsal and performance aside, generally free on Tuesday, Thursday, Friday and of course Sunday." The other days belonged to Viktor and Yuuri had been careful to juggle him and their lessons with meeting with friends. "On the other days lunch would be a possibility on performance days."

"I'd rather have dinner, so how about next Tuesday? How is your evening?"

" _Vampyr_ ," Yuuri sighed. "You don't have to bother to see the performance, though, it is – not exactly what I would call an intriguing work."

"Ah. Yes." Phichit nodded. "I've read some reviews in the newspapers... say, are you free now? It's Thursday."

"Yes, sure."

"Great, how about lunch? I haven't seen the _Vampyr,_ so another opinion – from someone partaking in it – would be interesting too."

So an invitation for dinner in a few days and a spontaneous one for lunch right now? Yuuri was glad Phichit enjoyed his company, but this was – well, Yuuri had not a proper word for it. And he had no reason to reject the offer. Also it was a free lunch and good company.

"Sure." He nodded. "I'll just finish up here."

"Wonderful!" Phichit smiled again in that fashion that made it decidedly hard to refuse him anything if he asked for it with that expression. "I will wait outside then. See you in a bit." With that he dashed off and Yuuri let out a breath.

From behind him there was a rustle and he flinched.

"Sorry, did I startle you?"

Viktor. Of course.

Yuuri turned around and spotted him in a corner behind his closet. He arched an eyebrow at him. "Do I want to know why and how you are in my dressing room?"

"As any self-respecting theatre, this one is riddled with secret passageways. I had a few years to find them all." At least Viktor had the decency to look a bit guilty. "I guess I should have asked if you want me here?"

Yuuri couldn't suppress a smile. "You should."

"Apologies. Am I allowed to move about your dressing room?"

"Of course. Just let me know when you are here, yes? It would be weird to undress without knowing whether you're around or not."

Viktor chuckled, coming closer. "Knowing that I am watching makes it better then?"

Yuuri reached out, took his hand and pulled him close. "Maybe?" He felt his lips twitch up into a smile. "Most of all not being sure whether I'm watched or not makes me a bit queasy and I don't like feeling queasy."

Viktor lifted his arm and got Yuuri to twirl around a bit. "Alright. I will make sure to make my presence known. Also, I think your Siamese sponsor fancies you. Not that I can blame him."

Yuuri sighed. "Guess so. Too bad, I really like him." He blinked up to him. "Also, I would have expected you to be more jealous."

"Jealousy in general speaks of a lack of trust in the other or of a lack of self confidence." Viktor ran a hand through Yuuri's hair. "I am not prone to either. I could act more jealous and possessive if you like, though."

Yuuri pulled him down and kissed him on the nose. "Dear God, no." Then he let go of him. "I should get ready, he'll be wondering where I am. And I need to drop the costume off."

Viktor nodded and pressed a kiss on his cheek. "Enjoy lunch. See you later." With that he went back into his corner and then he was gone as suddenly as he had shown up.

Yuuri smiled and took up the corset again. He rolled it up tightly and put it into his closet before putting on his waistcoat and then leaving to bring the smock back to the costume department.

Mrs. Freudenberg, interrupting her work on a dress, inspected it briefly before nodding, smiling and then returning to her work. Having done that Yuuri was now free, at least for now. After lunch he would still have the _Vampyr_ to deal with, after all.

Lunch with Phichit was decidedly nice. Yuuri had a chance to rip into the _Vampyr_ , much to Phichit's delight; for someone of such a sunny disposition he had a surprising appreciation for sarcasm and Yuuri enjoyed snarking for a bit. While he and his friends indulged in this little pleasure often enough, they all would dig their barbs into the same points about most things, particularly when the _Vampyr_ was concerned. Or maybe occasionally Yuri Plisetsky. God knew the boy with his drama, his anger issues and his moodiness offered them perfect material, no matter how much Yuuri had started to like him. He suspected that Viktor, had he been around and known, would have found himself the cause and receiver for quite some good-natured snark as well, not the least of it from Yuuri himself.

Phichit gladly joined into the game, although his favourite victims seemed to be the collection of business partners of his family's company.

"Imagine," he sighed, "a room full of crusty Englishmen and me just seventeen and there for the first time. Apparently a Siamese youth in Western clothing translates to manservant over there, because they wanted to know why Mr. Phichit Chula had sent his page boy rather than appearing in person. If he was afraid of being torn apart by them."

Yuuri took a bite of his potatoes. "Delightful. Am I glad not to be in your line of business."

"Be so. I sighed and told them that there was not much to fear as they could not even be bothered to read the intel of their negotiations partner." Phichit smiled wryly. "Needless to say they at least changed that. At least when their Siamese business partners were concerned. Pity they didn't show the same suaveness when it came to their colonial trade posts. But I suppose that's a given when a country is under your country's control. One could hardly expect them to pay attention to every minor detail."

It _was_ a nice lunch indeed.

"You know," Phichit said at some point, close to the end of their meeting, "if you had for some reason wound up in international trade it is very unlikely we would have ever met." He smiled somewhat wistfully and Yuuri's stomach lurched a little. He did not like where this appeared to be going.

"I would deeply regret that," Phichit continued. "And also I would regret never hearing you sing." His smile grew softer, causing Yuuri's stomach to lurch even more.

"We might still meet," he said, "International businesses tend to intertwine on occasion."

"But in that case our relationship would be purely business." With a shrug Phichit reached for his wine and took a sip. Yuuri did the same. After lunch he would have to get himself some tea. Chamomile or peppermint preferably, even though he shuddered at the thought of a hot drink in this weather.

"Even a good business relationship is not nearly as rewarding and warm as a friendship. Or what I perceive as such." Phichit shot Yuuri an inquiring look.

The lurch in his stomach made room for some genuine warmth and ease as he returned the smile. "I'd be glad if you did so." At least that he could accept and reciprocate without any complications and messes.

The lunch was most definitely nice.

"I fear you are right," Yuuri sighed in between exercises that evening.

Viktor looked up from sheets of music before him; he was using the little break to play a few tunes Yuuri had never heard before and jotting them down. "I am right rather often," he replied. "Care to elaborate?"

"Well, we both were right. On the same thing, in the same way." Yuuri rolled his shoulder. "Phichit does fancy me."

"Oh, did he say something?"

"Not really, but he acted in a way that I would not describe as exactly subtle." Being done stretching his shoulders he folded his hands behind his back and continued to pull down his arms. "I mean, _I_ noticed and I am anything but perceptive in these matters."

Viktor chuckled. "You are too harsh on yourself. You noticed that I was in love with you pretty soon."

Yuuri considered his words very carefully. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you are not exactly what I would call subtle. And it still took me a few weeks to get it. "

"If you say so. Can you give me this note?" He pressed a key on the cembalo and Yuuri took a breath before sending out the note.

"How about this?" Viktor asked and played another note.

Yuuri obliged and Viktor played another note and another and Yuuri sang them all until a melody formed.

Inwardly chuckling he found the words. "Abendlüftchen schweben um die Wangen traut und der Blätter Weben flüstert süßen Laut." It was strange hearing himself sing the part he had come to associate with Mila Babitch, but Viktor had keyed the melody down to match his Tenor. He played through Berthalda's part and then stopped, getting up and coming next to him. "Leise Wölkchen ziehen durch das Himmelszelt. Wie sie weilen, fliehen - immer froh gesellt," he sang, sweet and light and Yuuri would have loved to see him in his youth, lithe and willowy and all watery silver and earthy ivory, clad in the same cloudy grey as Sara Crispino had been today, singing her part.

"So gesellt uns zweye, treu durch Schwestersinn, ziehn in froher Weihe durch das Leben hin," they finished together, a declaration of kinship, of sorts. And proof that Berthalda might seem to like Undine.

"Well, my opinion will never change," Viktor sighed. "Undine and Berthalda together are a much more compelling pairing than either of them with Huldbrand. No matter who sings them."

"Are we really the best example for that?" Yuuri asked. "Let me sing with August, then we can test that theory."

Viktor shook his head. "No. No, no, no, I have heard him and his voice does not go along well with yours. You and Yura, though..." He chuckled. "You would match their characters and dynamics pretty well, too. And I would love to sing a Huldbrand to you two."

Yuuri raised an eyebrow. "You seem to like that role a lot."

"I fear I relate a bit too much to him and his impulsiveness, as I said." Viktor chuckled. "Similarities end there, though. But I think the three of us could play off one another quite well. What do you say, shall we pack up and head down?"

Yuuri nodded and smiled. "Sounds good to me."

Silent as mice they climbed down the stairs and ladders and corridors and only when they had reached Viktor's lair they spoke again.

"Pay attention to it," Viktor said. "To him."

"Phichit?" Yuuri made a face, watching Viktor go around the cave and lighting only the lamp at the bed. It was late. No more singing tonight, no reading either, only sleep.

Or maybe not.

The moment Yuuri had sat down and started taking his shirt off, Viktors arms – already naked and pale and warm – snaked around his waist and Viktor's nose brushed over his neck. "Hm. Maybe he will say something in time. Maybe he will not. If he will not, maybe he will act a bit more obviously."

"More than he does already?"

"Yes." Viktor pressed a kiss on Yuuri's cheek as he interlaced their fingers. "From what you tell and what I have seen, it would be bad manners from you to address this matter. He would have to act like a lover without having ever said something to that effect for that." He turned Yuuri around, pulling him even closer. "And considering he would want something from you he should be the one doing the talking."

Yuuri freed his hands and started unbuttoning his shirt. "Alright then. So, assume he does some talking and it turns out that all his talk of sponsoring me was to ensure my gratitude and to get me in bed. What then?"

Viktor took it upon himself to push it off his shoulders and pull it from his arms. His hands lingered on Yuuri's wrists. "You are awfully distrustful towards someone you like and whom you consider a good person."

"I grew up in an opera house, remember?" Yuuri sighed. "Being a good person doesn't mean that you won't spend money on someone to get into their good graces. Or at the very least, their beds."

"You think your Siamese suitor thinks along these lines?"

"I would appreciate if you didn't call him that."

"Sorry, love." Viktor ran a finger over Yuuri's cheek. "I will no more. But if he is acting with such intentions he is in no way as good a man as you are taking him for. Or I am, for that matter."

"He _is_ a good man," Yuuri argued. Apparently Viktor had not listened to him before. Or he had forgotten what Yuuri had said over now taking up the very important task of massaging his shoulders.

Viktor's fingers dug into his shoulders, sending the most delightful sting of pain and then relaxation down his spine. "Yuuri," he whispered, voice dark and firm and serious, "I want you to listen to me very carefully now, yes?"

Yuuri turned his head and looked at Viktor's furrowed brow and his shadowed eye. "I am."

"Someone who on purpose has you feel guilty or takes care that you feel like you owe them something is not a good person. Not. A good. Person. It is terrible to dangle a debt over you head that you never wanted to incur. It is terrible to use that debt to get you to do whatever they want. It is terrible. It is not good." Viktor leaned his brow against Yuuri's. "Understand that?"

Yuuri nodded slightly. "I think I do." He reached out, touching Viktor's hand. "Thank you. To be honest, he probably is not thinking along these lines. Or doing it on purpose."

"Hm. If he uses his sponsorship though to get into your pants you are still free to decline. If he does not want a scandal, he will accept it."

Their fingers interlaced.

"And with some luck he _is_ decent and you would have a friend in any case. Important, too. And good."

Yuuri sighed. "Would that even work out without being awkward?"

"Company is always appreciated," Viktor said. Now that he had gotten his point across, he moved his hands over Yuuri's skin again, causing him to writhe just the tiniest bit. "Especially from people like us. It is always nice to be somewhat understood." His lips fell onto Yuuri's shoulder. "Sex is not the only thing we might seek from another."

Yuuri chuckled and now completely turned around to face him. "Really now?"

"Really."

But nonetheless sex was what they both wanted now, craving physical intimacy and the feeling of them entwined, wound around each other. They wanted it. They needed it. They gave it.

"I had a chat with Yakov," Viktor mumbled into the crook of Yuuri's neck, while Yuuri idly ran his fingers through his long, fine hair.

"Hm, so?"

"First off, he agrees with me on the corset."

Ah. So Viktor had been behind that. Yuuri sighed. "I noticed. I was wearing the blasted thing. In case you didn't notice me taking it off when you showed up in my dressing room."

Viktor chuckled. "Too bad, I was late. I only came in when you were already in your undershirt."

Yuuri bent over to kiss him on the forehead. "Well, show up a bit earlier on time if you want to see it."

"Or you could wear it a bit longer."

Yuuri chuckled. "You would have to do some really hard work to convince me to do that."

Viktor's hand wandered over Yuuri's waist and then over his thigh.

Yuuri was too tired to get excited about it, too comfortable, too heavy, too happy holding Viktor in his arms just like that. But the touch felt so good. A soft, warm thrumming noise built up in his chest and his throat.

Viktor let his hand lie where it was. "However, since he does not like when all I am doing is gushing about you, we also talked about Yura." Now his voice grew serious again. "Did you notice anything about him?"

"Aside from that he seems to not catch enough sleep?"

"Ah, so you noticed. It does fit too. Apparently he is roaming around a lot these days. Late at night, too."

"Oh." Yuuri shifted himself to sit up a bit. Viktor, remaining as he was, slid down on him, his head resting in Yuuri's lap.

"In any case, he will leave unannounced, be it from the theatre or from home and he tells not where he is going and when he is going to be back and then he stays away all night. Sometimes he will even not be at home in the morning. At the very least, though, at these times he is with me. I and Yakov compared times. That is something at least."

"Has he changed in any way when he is around?"

"Not towards me and not towards Yakov either."

"And to me he is as affectionate as an angry hedgehog, so nothing new there as well." Yuuri sighed. "What about money?" Yuuri asked, "Did anything change about how he spends it? Or how much?"

Viktor shook his head. "Not as far as Yakov can see."

"Hm. So a lover can be ruled out, I suppose."

Viktor blinked up to him. "I know, I do joke about it too," he said slowly, "but Yuuri, you know how old the boy is?"

"I know. Very young, but not a little child either, so..." Yuuri shrugged. "Unless you are in trouble or have sick relatives, a love affair would be the most likely thing to spend money on, right?" And then, with a sigh and very slowly he added, "Or something that would get you money."

Viktor shook his head. "Sometimes you really trouble me, dear."

"As I said, I grew up at the theatre. Same as you."

"Me and Yura were entertainment slaves in all but name," Viktor argued. "Which is a disgusting concept in itself, but..." He sighed. "These sort of things did not happen. Not like this."

"How did they happen then?"

Viktor shrugged. "Someone had demand for you and you delivered if your Landlord gave them access to you. We are comparing slavery to prostitution here. I like neither of these."

Yuuri nodded. "Sorry. Guess I think it too normal."

"Outside of serf staffed private theatres it probably is. And I still do not like it. And I dearly hope Yura will never start with this."

"You want him to get a sponsor, though."

"Yes, because that does not necessarily mean..." Viktor's grasp on Italian left him for now and Yuuri listened to him mutter under his breath in what probably was Russian. "Well, at least I hope so."

"Not necessarily, yes," Yuuri confirmed.

For a moment they were silent again.

"Do not get me wrong, I would be happy if Yura was in love. Or had an actual affair going. God knows he could do with the social contact. He is not particularly good with these."

"I couldn't help but notice," Yuuri interjected dryly.

"But if he ever starts things like these or gets drawn into this sort of relationship, no, no. I would very much like him not to think that his bed is a trading booth." He sighed. "But in any case, this is not what is happening, right?"

"Supposedly not." Yuuri squeezed his shoulder. "He is not drinking, though, and probably not dabbling with opium – does Dresden have any opium dens?"

"Yes," Viktor mumbled.

"Alright, he is not visiting them."

"How would you know?"

"He would look and act differently. Mr. Feltsman would have noticed. And you would then know. You don't know, though, so we can rule that out."

"Hm. You are probably right," Viktor sighed, but he did not sound like he was agreeing with Yuuri. Nonetheless, he tightened his arms around Yuuri's waist, curling himself tighter around him.

Yuuri ran a hand through his hair, listening to his breath evening out. They were silent for a long time and Yuuri almost thought Viktor might have fallen asleep at last.

Then, suddenly he said, "So – you were trying to woo me with bread, cheese and cuts of duck?"

"What?" Yuuri blinked. Bread? Cheese? Duck? Wooing? He pondered it for a second and then chuckled. "Well, it worked, didn't it?"

"It did." Viktor ran a hand up Yuuri's side, making him squirm a bit. "Even though you did forget the wine." His fingers started to dance now, sending ripples of delight through Yuuri's body until laughter pooled out. "Really, what proper wooing works without wine?"

Yuuri fought for breath. "Well," he finally managed, "a proper wooing works best on proper people. I had to improvise."

In response, Viktor's fingers danced again, faster now and relentless until Yuuri begged for mercy amidst his laughter.

The main problem with Yuri Plisetsky was, Yuuri found, that the boy was for all intents and purposes a hedgehog. Hedgehogs were cute and adorable and one could delight in looking at them for hours. Sadly, their looks were about the only thing that could be considered cute and accessible about these little balls of pricks.

This posed something of a problem, considering the fact that Yuuri had promised Viktor to have a bit of an eye on the boy. Plisetsky was not too talkative to any of his peers and unless Yuuri found a reasonable basis for conversation, the boy would only shoot him a dark glare and then wander off.

At the very least, he could work on that. At the very least Plisetsky's idol was a rather busy man, who had written, composed and occasionally directed several operas. Also he had so far authored two essays about Ludwig van Beethoven and his Ninth Symphony.

Yuuri himself was fond of the latter, so maybe he could find some common ground here.

The next few days he spent his free time in some bookstores, digging through magazines and folios, before finally giving up and placing an order at his favourite store, the one with the grumpy clerk girl.

She had been less than thrilled to take an order for essays that had been published one eight, one two years ago and in different magazines no less and Yuuri had felt her wrath when she had asked him to pay part of the price in advance.

But at the very least she worked fast. She had said something about it taking a week to get the books. And when Yuuri showed up a week later, indeed, there they were, wrapped in brown paper, ready for him to read once he had paid the remaining sum and left the woman to be grumpy and moody to her heart's content.

There was no way, though, that he would let any of his friends see him reading the writings of Richard Wagner in his free time.

And now here he was, sitting on the basement floor next to Viktor's violin starting with a report Mr. Wagner had written and published in 1840 about a journey to Vienna with the express goal to visit his idol Ludwig van Beethoven.

Yuuri had an inkling of suspicion that the apparently infamous animosity between Viktor and Richard Wagner at its core was also a case of two incredibly dramatic people unable to bear someone equally dramatic. At least Viktor's own nature pointed towards this, as well as the fact that Richard Wagner had called this journey of his a pilgrimage.

If Yuuri was to choose, though, he definitely preferred whatever incarnation of drama Viktor had to offer. At least his drama didn't come in form of a somewhat autobiographical novella written in a style that was overstuffed and so saturated that it dripped that Yuuri was close to vomiting. (Also far too self-congratulatory for his taste).

He looked up in relief when he heard Viktor's steps approaching and closed the book.

"Hello there." Viktor smiled down at him and offered him a hand. "Have you been waiting long?"

Yuuri got up. "Not really. And I got something to while away the time." He held up the book.

Immediately Viktor's face twisted. "Urgh," he declared and then repeated, "Urgh. Really! This is disgusting!" He shivered and it looked both genuine and extremely exaggerated. "Urgh." Then he paused and waved for Yuuri to follow him down the corridor.

The door closed and the moment darkness fell around them Viktor said, "Oh, _koschteschka_ , how could this have happen?! Tell me, who did this to you?!"

Despite the darkness Yuuri blinked. "What?"

"I promise you, Yura, you will not go unavenged! As much as I disapprove of you possessing my lover, I am sure you have your reasons and be assured, name your murderer and I will see that there will be retribution!"

"No need for that," Yuuri sighed. "Plisetsky is fine, I saw him at rehearsal."

"Ah." Viktor's somewhat confused blink was almost audible in his voice. "Well, in that case, would you please kindly tell me who you are and what you have done with my dearest? What are your conditions? What do I have to do to get him back? Speak!"

By now Yuuri really had to laugh. "I am fine, Viktor, really. But good that my apparent interest in the works of Richard Wagner could fool you, I am pretty sure it will work on Plisetsky as well."

There was a moment of silence from Viktor. "You are reading this awful stuff to get closer to Yura?"

Yuuri shrugged and then found himself searching for and finally finding Viktor's hand. "Well, I did promise to have an eye on him, didn't I? I figured I should understand how that hot little head of his works first, right?"

"Right." Viktor sighed and gave his hand a squeeze. "Right."

So on Viktor it had worked.

Now the only question was how Yuuri could get it to work on Plisetsky as well.

As it turned out, there was not much work involved in getting it to work on Plisetsky.

All Yuuri had to do was striking up a conversation about Beethoven with Sara and Johannes Erhardt and pay attention that Plisetsky was in earshot when he said, "Didn't Wagner write something about him? I think I've seen something like that in a book store."

In his corner, perched over his book, Yuri Plisetsky didn't move. The page he had been about to turn fell back.

Johannes Erhardt shrugged. "Did so." He didn't sound like he wanted to elaborate on that.

Sara raised an eyebrow. "You are showing interest in Mr. Wagner? Are you quite alright?" She put her hand on his brow and then sighed. "Well, at least you are not feverish."

Yuuri laughed. "I'm fine, but thank you for the concern."

Sara raised her other eyebrow. "Well, if you say so. Yuri, dear!"

Yuri Plisetsky looked up as if he hadn't listened to them. "What?!"

"You're the big Richard-Wagner-expert here, right?"

Plisetsky sighed and put his book away – something in Russian, Yuuri noted, the cyrillic title stamped in gold lettering into the linen of the cover. Then he unfolded his body from his slouch and then came up to them. "Yeah, what's it?"

"The guy wrote something about Beethoven, right? Yuuri was asking," Sara explained.

It earned Yuuri a lopsided, inquiring look. "Was he now?"

Yuuri shrugged. "I do plan on staying here quite a while. Might as well learn something about the people who shaped this theatre."

Sara made a movement as if to check him for fever again, but apparently she caught herself in time and backed off again.

"Hm. He mostly did that as a director and instructor, really." Plisetsky gave a wave that both bid farewell to Johannes Erhardt and to Sara and beaconed Yuuri to follow him.

He bid them goodbye and fell into step next to him.

Plisetsky walked out of the theatre and on the streets. "I've read the stuff Mr. Wagner wrote about Mr. Beethoven. He adores him and very much rightfully so."

Yuuri shrugged. "Anyone with ears and half a mind for music would."

Plisetsky shot him a sharp grin, that was probably meant to look friendly, but in fact mostly managed to scare Yuuri a little bit. "True that. Mr. Wagner took notice of me during a rehearsal for the Ninth Symphony. First time he ever did. First time anyone here was friendly."

"You and Viktor are from Russia, right? It must have been lonely here for you two."

"It was." Plisetsky's mouth shook for a moment and then set itself into a firm line. "Not so much for Viktor, though. I mean, one could be disgusted at how easily he makes friends and forgets that some people exist."

Yuuri wanted to protest, wanted to say that there was nothing further away from the truth, but if he did, Plisetsky would probably clam up again, stomp off and Yuuri would have to spend another few weeks to get him to actually talk to him.

"You're the same," Plisetsky growled. "Being liked by anyone and everyone wherever you go as soon as you open your mouth. It's disgusting."

Yuuri laughed humourlessly as they headed for the river Elbe. "I think the population of Milan begs to differ."

"City of fools. Be glad that you've left."

"August downright loathes me, it seems."

"Tool," Plisetsky made his judgement. "Don't trust anyone who doesn't want to sing with Sara."

Yuuri chuckled. "Good to know. So at the very least I can trust you, despite your utter contempt for me?"

Plisetsky stared at him and opened his mouth as if in protest. Then said mouth fell shut.

Finally he said, "Anyways, Mr. Wagner took the time to work with me and he was kind enough to see potential in me – urgh, you're rubbing off! I hate that!"

"Then don't say it," Yuuri sighed as they passed a small vendor, selling fist sized apple fruit pies. Lonely child that someone had seemingly taken seriously.

Well, Yuuri couldn't say that he wouldn't have been susceptible too at some point.

Plisetsky shrugged. "Not like I decided to. That's you and your influence! Gross!"

Yuuri chuckled and then stopped at the vendor, buying two pies, one apple, one cherry. "It's always up to you what you take and what not, so for now I take it as a compliment to have some influence over you. Apple or cherry?"

Plisetsky made a face. "You don't have influence over me. Cherry."

Yuuri handed him the pastry. Maybe, he mused, maybe this was the way to go. Maybe this was how Plisetsky opened up.

... Boo!

Well, here we are again and... as usual I have no idea what to say aside of the usual and always heartfelt "Thanks for dropping by, I hope you like the stuff I put out here"


End file.
